


Mr Stark Is Not Selfish

by DreamCatcher5784



Category: Captain America (Civil War), Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man (homecoming), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers are scarred by 15-year-old kid, Avengers better watch their back, Father-Son Relationship, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter is a badass, Steve Rogers is a dick, Traumatised Peter, peter is a precious cinnamon roll that is overprotective of tony, peter is terrifying, steve rogers is a douchebag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamCatcher5784/pseuds/DreamCatcher5784
Summary: “I know it’s not about me, Spangles!” Tony replied.“So stop acting like such a self-centred brat and start thinking about everyone else in the room! Maybe give that a try for once!” Steve screeched angrily.Peter saw red.That motherfucking bitch.ORPeter gives the Rogue Avengers what they deserve. And Steve Rogers is an asshole.(And T'Challa was never in Siberia during Tony and Cap's fight; the king doesn't even know it happened. Only Bucky, Spangles, Tony, Peter, Pepper and Happy do).~ ON HIATUS ~





	1. Defending A Father-Figure

Peter Benjamin Parker was many things. He was a part-spider mutant. He was a vigilante going by the name of Spider-Man. He was Tony Stark’s protégé. He was a freshman in high school. He was stronger than the Hulk and Captain America combined (a theory which was proven correct with the help of one, amazing, rich mentor). He was capable of getting shot, then waking up the next day without so much as a scratch.

But something Peter Benjamin Parker definitely wasn’t was a bystander.

The Uncle Ben incident broke him in more than a mental sense. Peter still had nightmares about the incident, and due to Peter’s hyperthymesia, otherwise known as highly superior autobiographical memory, he could remember the night in such extreme detail it hurt. Some days, Peter could close his eyes and clearly see the man’s pale face as the life drained from his sky blue irises. He could see the rough pavement that Uncle Ben had laid on, as well as every imperfection in the concrete so perfectly it was as though Peter was still there.

Anyways, that whole ordeal had shown Peter just how much a simple bystander can impact a situation, especially a bad one, and its outcome. Peter is physically incapable of letting bad people do bad things without trying to stop it (unless it was happening to him (like Flash’s bullying)). Also, ever since then, so much as the sight of chocolate milk made the teenage boy feel the urgent need to vomit. But that was irrelevant. Peter’s brain tended to do that; change the subject when the topic being currently discussed caused too much trauma to resurface.

Five months had passed since the so-called ‘civil war’, a battle between Iron Man and Captain America which resulted in not a single winning team. Everyone lost something that day. Tony lost his friends (and a few years of his life after Roger’s actions in Siberia), Vision lost his lover, T’challa lost alliance with most of the Avengers, Clint, Natasha, Bucky, Scott, Steve and Sam lost their freedom, and Rhodey lost his legs. What did Peter lose, you ask? Peter lost his respect for America’s idol as well as all the idiotic ‘superheroes’ that sided with the super-soldier.

Peter practically lost his childhood (despite how most of it was focused on Tony Stark and the billionaire’s successes).

So when Cap’s entire team was invited to the new, Avenger’s Compound in order to discuss the accords and get them pardoned, Peter freaked. Tony Stark, T’challa, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanova, Clint Barton, Bucky, Scott Lang, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Rhodey and himself, Peter Parker, all stuffed into one room to discuss the accords and make a plan on how to get the Rogues pardoned.

Peter didn’t want to.

He wanted to attend, of course, but he didn’t want them to be freed of all the punishments their stunt in Germany caused. They didn’t deserve it, especially Steve. Bucky, possibly, everyone else too, but not Captain America. He was the one that broke Tony the most.

Mentally, physically _and_ emotionally.

Rogers had shattered Stark as though the billionaire were made of glass and the super-soldier was a hammer. Tony had handled the situation carefully, warning Steve of almost every action the mechanic took and even going easy on the shield-wielding maniac. But Steve didn’t care. It was always about Bucky. Fucking Steve Rogers was an asshole, and Peter was sure as hell going to make sure the enhanced ‘hero’ knew that too.

This Saturday, during the meeting.

Only Tony and Rhodey knew that Peter was Spider-Man (in relation to those attending the secret meeting), and it was meant to remain that way. Peter would pose as Mr Stark’s personal intern, there mainly in order to represent Pepper who was unable to attend due to Stark Industries business. Peter, personally, didn’t mind the cover story and was fully prepared to back it up by acting as professional as possible. The teenage boy swore to only intervene if Steve went too far (which the soldier was sure to do).

Peter decided to bring his web-shooters just in case and planned to hide them under a jacket or long-sleeved shirt.

\---

Peter was in the common room of the Compound, sitting casually on the couch while playing on his brand new StarkPhone (courtesy of the ever-insistent Tony Stark). He was wearing navy blue jeans as well as a plain, red t-shirt underneath a black jacket. On the back of the jacket were the words ‘Iron Man’ written in white, graffiti font, covering that whole portion of the clothing. It was a gift from Tony, and the mechanic had a matching jacket, but with ‘Spider-Man’ written on the back instead.

His web-shooters were hidden under the sleeves and had been recently stuffed with enough webbing that they could last a week before a refill was required. After several minutes of waiting there in silence, a slight tingle on the back of his neck alerted the boy of someone’s arrival. The Rogues were supposed to arrive together (besides Bucky; he was coming with T’challa) as they had been out in hiding_ together_.

But the approaching footsteps belonged to only one person and were unnaturally quiet. Peter guessed that whoever it was had only just entered the building, considering how the heartbeat was muffled slightly. If the person were closer, the thumping of the blood-pumping organ would be louder, like a drum. _Thank you enhanced hearing. _

Peter turned off his phone and busied himself trying to figure out who it could be. Definitely not Tony, the man walked too quickly for that to be him, and his heartbeat was never this smooth. Couldn’t be Rhodey because his leg braces made sounds as he moved, similar to that of a car engine but much quieter.

It couldn’t be T’challa.

Peter had met the king only once in Germany and they had hardly been so much as near each other. But the Wakanda ruler had loud, even breathing. Whatever gave that man his enhancements caused his heart to be constantly beating quickly to make up for the constant flow of _something_ in his veins, that defiantly wasn’t blood.

Couldn’t be Bucky either. The super-soldier’s arm clinked and clanked noisily. Well, it was noisy to Peter; not everyone had such advanced hearing that they could hear an ant’s footsteps despite the insect being several feet beneath the ground. And Steve was the same in the sense that he was loud, just maybe not for the same reasons.

Clint’s arrows hit each other as the archer walked, so it wasn’t him. And Peter didn’t hear the whirring of Sam’s Falcon wings or the mechanical appendages sliding back into place after landing. Can’t be Scott; the man is always talking. A bit like Peter, but stupider, and slightly more social. And Peter talked more than Scott. That was for sure.

Vision? No; the mind stone wielder didn’t have a beating heart in his chest. Or footsteps. The dude floated everywhere he went. But his mind stone made noise, a sound similar to that of a soft humming. And Wanda had a humming too, but it came from the energy constantly floating around her. An aura that was invisible to the naked, human eye. Peter doubted Steve could even see it despite the super-soldier’s own enhancements. The kid could though. It was a faded red colour that floated around Wanda constantly, and whenever she was within a mile of him, Peter could feel the energy. It was strong.

He was stronger.

So that left Natasha; a trained, female spy and assassin. Otherwise known as the Black Widow. Most, if not all were scared of her when she wanted them to be. Peter himself had witnessed her death glare, and if looks could kill, that one would.

To anyone else, her footsteps would be non-existent, her breaths silent. But Peter could hear it as clear as day. Just before she turned the corner and came into view, Peter decided to alert her of his presence. He doubted she knew he was there.

“Hello, Ms Romanoff.” He called, choosing to use her fake name (not that anyone besides herself and Peter knew otherwise), before relaxing back into the couch cushions and opening his phone. His spider-sense tingled in warning. _Oh yeah. This is going to be fun. _

Suddenly, she was in front of him, knife pointed at his throat. Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” She hissed.

Peter had to physically restrain himself from laughing._ Seriously? Was this supposed to be intimidating? The poor woman has become soft._ Though there was still that small part of him that was beyond excited to be this close to _the_ Black Widow! How many people can say they’ve been threatened by Natasha Romanova? Well, lot’s, actually. But most of them weren’t alive to tell the tale. Peter would be. She couldn’t kill him if she tried.

“Hi! I’m Peter Benjamin Parker here to represent Pepper Potts in the meeting. She was unable to attend due to Stark Industries business, and since I am Mr Stark’s personal intern I was the best choice.” Peter spoke calmly, as though there wasn’t a sharp, silver blade scraping the skin of his neck.

Natasha looked completely unfazed. She just remained still and looked Peter directly in the eyes. Peter did the same, his gaze never wavering, and eyes determined.

There was a rumbling in the background, the sound silent to Natasha but almost painfully loud to Peter. The engine turned off and the sound stopped. Peter simply listened as people exited the jet. He could tell it was a jet due to the sound of the engines and the size which he vaguely figured out by the noise it made when it landed on the roof of the Compound.

Alright. _That_ was Vision and the Rogues. The android was instructed to retrieve them for the meeting and bring them here ten minutes ago. They were late. Then again, so was T’challa. The king had informed Tony that he would arrive five minutes ago from now, which he didn’t. Also, where was Tony with Rhodey? How come a fifteen-year-old boy is the only one able to stick to schedules out of a bunch of heroes and a genius billionaires? Who were _all_ grown adults!?

“Fine. Don’t believe me. The rest of the Rogues are here now anyway with Mr Vision. You guys can discuss this together.” Peter declared confidently.

Natasha raised an eyebrow in response and gave him a _slightly_ confused look. That was the most emotion she had shown in the past few minutes. Peter bit his tongue to stop himself from saying so. He didn’t want to embarrass himself and really didn’t need to risk getting on her bad side.

The elevator chose that moment to open with a bell-like chime. The Rogue Avengers along with Vision were cramped inside, and Peter could practically hear their non-existent sighs of relief of getting to finally leave that cramped space. Clint and Steve were the first to step out, but due to the positioning of the sofas and the teenage boy, they were yet to see Peter. All they saw was Nat partially bent forward onto one of the couches.

Scott looked around the room in silent awe. Peter had been the same when he had first seen the Compound a few months back. It was truly a beautiful place and a science/engineering nerd’s dream. The labs here were just fabulous. They had everything! Secretly though, Peter was thankful Scott was in too much shock to speak. That guy was funny and seemed like he would get along great with Peter, but the teenager just wasn’t in the mood.

“You know, Tasha, next time you choose to sneak away like that, leave a note or something so that we know not to look for you for an hour!” Clint complained.

The spy simply glared from her position; her firm hold on the knife never faltering. Peter rolled his eyes; why was he not surprised? She does seem the type to vanish without a trace for no apparent reason, and it would explain why the others were late. By now, there wasn’t a single person left in the elevator, yet the rest of the Rogues were still unaware of Peter’s presence. Clint was still complaining about something or other, Steve looked plain annoyed (as did everyone else) and the female assassin just stared at Peter. How no one besides her had noticed him yet was a mystery. _I’m surrounded by idiots. _

“So are you going to introduce me, or do I have to introduce myself? And do you mind lowering your blade? I like red, but I don’t need the colour to be pouring out of my neck.” Peter spoke suddenly, his voice unnaturally calm.

Truthfully, the confidence Peter was currently feeling was unexpected by even himself. He thought he’d stutter and make an absolute fool of himself in front these superheroes, but he didn’t. Peter guessed it was because he was far too angry at them for how much they hurt Stark to bother with anxiety.

The shocked expressions that travelled around the room were expected, but funny none the less. Almost instantly the rest of the group jumped into action, defensive stances replacing their previously relaxed forms. Upon noticing Natasha’s fixed gaze on a specific spot on the sofa, Wanda activated her magic and lifted Peter into the air.

Having this red energy actually lifting Peter into the air hurt. Not badly, but about as much as a paper cut would on a pain scale. Wanda clearly wasn’t attempting to hurt him, just make him visible to the rest of the group. Peter could tell that much due to how she lifted him until he was about an inch above the top of the couch backrest, and made him face the group in something that was similar to a normal standing position, but with his arms and legs more spread out.

The energy around him felt hot. He could feel it travelling along his skin in such detail as if it were the waves or current of the sea washing over him. The magic-type thing felt rather restraining, tighter around his wrists and ankles than anywhere else in order to keep him in place. Peter’s enhancements included sensitive touch, so the chances that anyone else would feel Wanda’s energy on them so clearly was close to impossible.

Peter could tell that he could escape Wanda’s magic with ease, like forcing one’s hand through the top layer of sand at a beach. Easy. Simple. Effortless. But he didn’t want to scare her, or anyone else, and preferred to keep his identity secret for a little longer.

Here’s one thing Peter learned about the spider that bit him; it didn’t only contain the DNA of a spider. It was mutated with other snippets of DNA from other creatures, like a drug flowing through the arachnid’s veins. It was an experiment made to create a super-soldier that could challenge most of the Avengers in battle, and even a God, like a Thor, to be rendered powerless against.

The venom in a spider bite was the only way to inject it into a person, as the serum was far too acidic to allow injection through a syringe and guarantee survival for the patient. The research was forgotten, and Dr Conners was fired after losing the spider. Oscorp thought they’d failed.

Peter was proof that they didn’t.

But he would never tell them that.

He wasn’t stupid.

Anyways, now he was faced with all of the Rogue Avengers, plus Vision (who didn’t know Peter because Tony just had to be protective of his protégé). He was doomed, but only if he let himself be. Parker, being the genius he was, chose to be polite and casual. Maybe not the best choice, but apparently he thought it smart to seem approachable. A random, strange, unknown kid in a secure, Avengers Compound with seemingly no business to be there, could be a thief or something for all the Rogues knew, but hey; at least he was nice. _Idiot. _

“Hi, there!” Peter smiled kindly, any anger he felt towards the group vanishing from his wide brown eyes. Peter promised Stark he’d try to forgive them. Peter doesn’t break promises. He just doesn’t. It’s plain wrong. “My name’s Peter! Peter Benjamin Parker! Nice to meet you. Although you are like, ten minutes late. But so is Mr T’challa with Mr Barnes. And Mr Stark with Mr Rhodey.” Peter added thoughtfully, his rambling habits surfacing.

“Mr Barnes… does he mean Bucky?” Clint asked in disbelief. Peter couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or not.

“Why are you in Avengers Compound?” Steve questioned, choosing to ignore the archer.

The sound of approaching footsteps distracted Peter. He could recognise that whirring anywhere. And that clanking of metal against metal had to be Bucky. Mr Stark and T’challa must have carpooled. And by the sounds of it, they were rather close. They should be coming into view in 3… 2…

“Hi, Mr Stark!” Peter greeted as the billionaire rounded the corner. They must have used the front door rather than the landing pad like the Rogues did. Meaning T’challa had landed his aircraft somewhere out of sight, a bit of a distance away at least. Probably flew to where Rhodey was practising his walking exercises and then got in a limo with Stark and War Machine. Bucky probably rode in a separate limo, though, knowing Tony.

Stark was startled out of his conversation with the king, his head snapping up upon hearing Peter’s voice. Clearly, Tony didn’t expect Peter to be on time, never mind early. Or for the freshman to be floating in the air. “Kid! What in the fuck’s hell are you doing!?” The mechanic switched his attention from Peter to the Rogues, slight rage flickering briefly across the man’s eyes. “Put him down!” Tony demanded.

Peter rolled his eyes. Billionaires and their dramatics. “You know him?” Steve asked for verification.

“Yes! And I’m pretty sure I just told you to _put him down_!” Tony repeated crossly, but Peter noticed the billionaire’s flinch at being addressed by the super-soldier anyway.

The Avengers (Rogue or not) simply watched as Wanda hesitantly lowered Peter to the floor, the red energy dissipating quickly. Peter smiled as his feet hit solid ground, the sensation one that he missed. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right? I was fine.” Peter stated as he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket so that they hid his web-shooters better.

Tony groaned in exasperation and rolled his eyes. “Seriously kid, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.” He declared.

Peter scoffed. “Sure I am.”

T’challa chose that moment to intervene and cleared his throat in order to grab everyone’s attention. “Stark, why is there a kid here? This was supposed to be a private meeting. Even the AI was disabled so that there would be no evidence of this ever happening.” The king reminded.

The Rogues silently nodded their agreement at that statement, their eyes fixed on Tony in accusation. Clint, being the ever stupid person that he is, asked the following; “He’s not yours, is he?”

Tony coughed and choked on his own spit. Peter started laughing hysterically, bending over as the giggles shook his body. “Oh my God!” The boy exclaimed between his laughter. “Seriously?! His kid? Have you met the man, Mr Barton?” The Avenger’s shocked expressions that came with Peter’s sudden laughter were _priceless._

By the end of Peter’s ‘speech’, Tony had managed to calm himself. He straightened up his posture and glared at the boy as the teenager managed to slowly calm down too. “No, he is not my kid,” Tony explained. “He is my personal intern. _Nothing. More._” He hissed, eyeing the archer dangerously. But Peter noticed a longing shine in the billionaire's eyes and secretly wondered if Tony believed what he was saying.

Clint took a step back and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He mumbled.

“Since when do you have a _personal_ intern? I thought you hated interns because they could never keep up with you.” Natasha pointed out; her eyebrow raised as if to say;_ ‘I don’t believe you’_.

“And why is he wearing Iron Man merchandise? Isn’t that a bit strange considering he _apparently_ works _with_ Iron Man?” Sam added.

“It’s been almost half a year since we’ve so much as spoken,” Tony answered coldly. “Things change.” He shrugged to create the illusion of not caring.

“And I work with Tony Stark. Wearing Iron Man-themed clothes is practically dress-code.” Peter lied smoothly. He saw Tony jump slightly at how believable the teenager sounded. There was no hesitation in Peter’s voice, no clue whatsoever in his body language or dialogue that what he was saying was anything but the truth.

“So now that we all know each, let’s get to it! Follow me.” Tony said with forced enthusiasm as he spun on his heel and started down a hallway.

Peter was the first to start following after his mentor, falling into a casual walking pace only a few steps behind him. Soon, everyone else started to follow, and the mismatched group of supers were led through the Compound single-file.

\---

Peter sighed as he watched the two men bicker.

Steve and Tony had been at it for several minutes now. Every once in awhile, someone would interrupt and join the conversation. Whoever was on ‘Team Cap’ in Germany would defend Steve, and whoever was ‘Team Iron Man’ in Germany would defend Tony. Except for Natasha. She just pointed out how stupid and childish the both of them were being.

Peter, though, had surprisingly managed to remain silent.

He kept his opinions to himself, planning to wait for them to sort it out on their own like the adults that they were. It mostly was because the teenager feared that if he did join the discussion, he would either be cruelly judged or end up revealing his secret identity in a fit of rage. So silently observing as the chaos unfolded was the only way to go. Until Steve said something painfully stupid.

“I refuse to get you all pardoned. At least not without a minor sentence each. I couldn’t even if I tried. I’m good, but I’m not that good.” Tony declared, his arms crossed and expression set.

“You have the best lawyers, and enough power to get even Ross fired. I’m sure you’ll manage.” Steve countered, his posture perfect and shoulders tense.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Capsicle.” The billionaire sighed, lifting a hand to massage his temple.

“Yes, I do, Stark. So drop your pride and grow up! Things happened, but you can’t hold a grudge forever.” The super-soldier declared, his voice rising in volume slightly.

Tony glared. “I’m not the one that ran away with my friend and got most of the Avengers to be considered criminals by the law. That was all you. So maybe take some of your shit advice and stop talking to me about growing up! I did, Rogers. That’s why I signed the accords and why you didn’t.”

“I didn’t sign the accords because all they did was restrict us from protecting the people when our help was needed. I care about the team. They’re like family to me. So don’t you dare blame me for getting them put on the Raft. You’re the one who supported such treatment. Open your eyes, Tony! It is not only about you.” Steve scolded in his ‘I’m-Captain-America-therefore-I-am-always-in-the-right’ voice.

“I know it’s not about me, Spangles!” Tony replied.

“So stop acting like such a self-centred brat and start thinking about everyone else in the room! Maybe give that a try for once!” Steve screeched angrily.

Peter saw red.

_That motherfucking bitch._ Peter could tell Rhodey, T’challa, Natasha and – fuck – pretty much everyone in the room wanted to intervene. But for some reason, they stayed silent. Didn’t move or anything and just stared and watched as Tony and Steve fought. Maybe it was the glares the mechanic sent the group anytime they so much as moved to open their mouths. Maybe it was because the super-soldier and billionaire had started to plainly ignore anything anyone said, and the other supers had just given up.

But Steve had gone too far, and since it was clear words wouldn’t work, Peter did the only rational thing he could think to do. He stood up and swiftly travelled across the room in less than a second and punched Steve in the jaw with all of the strength Peter could master. The deafening crack that came with the collision of his small fist with the man’s face was the most satisfying thing Peter had ever heard.

He broke Captain America’s jaw.

_I’ve been waiting to do that for way too fucking long. And technically, I did try to forgive him, so this doesn't count as breaking that promise. _

Steve doubled over, clutching his chin and spitting out crimson blood onto the marble floor. He made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a wince as the pain hit him full-on, the shock quickly leaving. Bucky didn’t waste a second, and had already jumped up from his seat and stalked towards Peter with such ferociousness and anger that it actually almost scared the kid.

Keyword being _almost_.

This time, Peter didn’t even need his spider-sense to warn him. _How predictable._ Instead of dodging the metal arm that was swung at his head in the form of a punch, Peter caught it effortlessly and used it to throw Bucky backwards and into the wall. He then used a whole bunch of his new, improved webbing to make sure the assassin stayed put and couldn’t move to so much as scratch his nose.

The surprised expression on the man’s face made Peter want to laugh.

He would have had the rest of the people in the room not jumped up to attack and stop the supposed threat. Besides Tony. The billionaire just watched with wide eyes and slightly parted lips; which was as close to a surprised expression that the man could handle.

“You’re that Spider-Kid!” Sam exclaimed, obviously having only just realised himself. Peter didn’t display any visible signs of acknowledgement. Personally, the teenager was relieved that at least one person in the group wasn’t daft enough to _not_ put two-and-two together.

Since all of the Rogues were in their ‘costumes’, they also had all of their weapons. Natasha began to throw knives at Peter, which the boy easily dodged without even sparing them so much as a glance. He shot a web and Natasha was stuck to the wall too. The action was effortless and didn’t require being visibly able to see the target in order to hit it perfectly.

Wanda and Vision were at a loss. Their powers weren’t working (Peter might have had something to do with that) and since neither were very skilled in hand-to-hand combat due to their high dependence on their supernatural abilities, they were easy opponents. Especially if you include their shock at their current situation. Soon, they too were stuck to the wall, firmly kept in place by the impossibly strong webs. The strength of Peter’s creation could rival that of normal Vibranium restraints (thanks to recent improvements in the formula) and not even the Hulk could dream of breaking through them. Thor, possibly, that guy was a literal _God_, but not anyone in this room. The webs could even survive fairly well when faced against Iron Man’s improved blasters.

T’challa had activated his suit after Peter had defeated about half of the group, and sped forward in attempt to tackle the boy. Peter backflipped out of the way, rotating his body so that he was now behind the king. With a swift kick to the man’s back, T’challa was sent stumbling at the sheer force of the attack and the large amount of unsuspected strength behind it. Moments later the king was stuck to the wall and struggling uselessly against his restraints.

Clint, although able to hold his own in hand-to-hand combat, was a much better archer than anything. If one were to be against Clint and the man’s well-shot arrows, the opponent would be less likely to win. Hawkeye was unbelievably skilled with a bow, and his arrows hardly missed their targets, if ever. But due to the limited space, the man’s bow and arrows were rendered useless.

He was forced to attack with well-timed kicks and punches, but they were no match for Peter’s quick reflexes and long ago perfected combat skills. At the same time, a miniature Scott Lang was trying to disable Peter by travelling to any reachable nerve points and jumping down on them to create the illusion of the pinching technique that normal-sized people usually used.

At least that’s what Peter thought Scott was attempting to accomplish. With the use of Peter’s ever-useful spider-sense and sharp eyesight, Antman never managed to get too close. And since Scott’s ability to communicate with ants was disabled due to the magnetic pulses that vibrated off the room’s walls constantly, the man found that his device was nothing, but a piece of metal stuck to his head.

Seconds later Katniss and his tiny apprentice were stuck to the walls as well, having nothing left to do but vocally complain and shout out demands to be released, or tug uselessly at the webs. It was Sam who ran forwards next, as Steve was in too much shock and pain due to the broken jaw a practical _kid_ had given him to move from his position much. His eyes were the only parts of him that moved. They were wide and flickered from side to side in order to watch every one of his friends be quickly trapped by Peter’s artificial webs.

Sam Wilson, otherwise known as the Falcon, was similar to Clint. He was a far more challenging opponent when he was blasting at you with guns from high above. Obviously, the guy had his mechanical wings packaged safely in that backpack contraption of his, but they provided zero assistance in the type of fight he was currently partaking in.

Peter had him soon stuck to the wall also, but hanging horizontally rather than vertically like everyone else. Why? Because the guy had gone and thrown a chair at Peter (which was obviously easily avoided). It did, though, form a slight dent in the wall. This was Stark’s property, and this imbecile with wings just damaged it.

A while ago (Peter couldn’t remember when) the boy had stuck Rhodey and Tony to the only exit/entrance to the room by their legs and arms. Peter left one of Tony’s arms free though, for future assistance.

The only person left free of the white, sticky substance was Steve. He stood on the other side of the long table and chairs, which Peter did not appreciate. With a swift kick, the mahogany furniture was stuck to the ceiling, legs facing down. Luckily, they weren’t long enough to be an inconvenience.

Any chairs that Peter passed on his short journey to Captain America received the same treatment, and soon the ceiling was as crowded with furniture as the walls were crowded with people. Steve attempted to take a fighting stance, but Peter webbed up his feet before the man could. Peter expected his determined gaze to be met with a fearful expression. But all he saw was confusion, and that angered the boy. _He is supposed to be terrified! No worry. I’ll just make sure he is by the time I’m done with him. _

“Don’t touch him!” Bucky screeched as Peter proceeded to approach Steve casually.

The teenager rolled his eyes. With a quick flick of his wrist, everyone in the room had their mouths coated in a few layers of webbing, effectively silencing them. Everyone besides Steve. He wanted to hear what that idiot hat to say in his defence.

“If this is about what happened in Germany, I’m sorry for dropping a jet bridge on you.” Steve offered, his body tense and unnaturally alert due to his vulnerable position. The words were mumbled in an almost silent manner and were slurred and hard to comprehend due to the fractured jaw Peter had gifted the man with. But the spider-mutant understood anyway as if Rogers was speaking normally rather than forcing out words through an immobile jaw.

Peter growled viscously. _How can anyone be so oblivious!?_ Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw some of the defeated ‘heroes’ flinch at the sound. Well, flinch as much as the webbing allowed them to. The satisfaction that washed over the boy at that was so wrong and he hated himself for feeling so proud. This wasn’t right. It was so, _so_ wrong. Even if some of the people here were wanted criminals. So then, answer him this; why did it feel so _right_?

Pushing away his internal struggle, Peter stepped forwards once more so that he and the soldier were so close they were almost touching. Before the man could attempt to do anything, Peter had his hands glued to the nearby wall. Steve grunted in surprise and pulled at the webs.

A useless effort.

Peter leaned forward, his expression hard and eyes reflecting the fire of his inner rage. “Don’t you dare call Mr Stark _selfish_.” He hissed, spitting the final word out as though it were acidic.

Steve’s confusion was now mixed with fear at the pure fury in the young child’s expression. Peter would have smirked at that lost, and panicked look the super-soldier was pulling, but his own anger-fuelled emotions over-powered any sense of amusement.

“And don’t you fucking dare blame Mr Stark for the situation you are currently in! That was all you! No one else – just you; Steven Grant Rogers! You! So how about you grow some balls and open your eyes to reality. You’re the one that made them choose sides. You’re the idiot that tore up whatever ‘team’ dynamic these people were meant to create.” Peter gestured to some of the other people in the room, forcing his voice to lower in volume and limit his use of swear words. He needed to seem professional, and shouting like a child while cussing stupidly wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“We… were… m – m’nt… t – t’… be… uh – a… f’m’ly.” Steve struggled to speak fluently due to the broken jaw Peter oh so kindly gave him, and this time, his words were so badly pronounced that Peter himself took a second to fully understand what the jumble of letters meant. The pain must be getting to him.

Good.

The boy chuckled drily. The sound lacked emotion causing it to be empty, and the more Peter laughed the hollower he felt. “A family?” Peter asked in disbelief between laughter. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself. You were hardly a team, never-mind a family.”

The teenager could tell Steve wanted to protest, along with some of the other Ex-Avengers in the room, but Peter continued before Steve could force out a sentence. “Family,” Peter stressed the word to show its importance and replaced his slightly amused smirk with a threatening scowl. “Family doesn’t leave each other for dead.” He snarled viscously, glare intense and never-wavering.

Steve, to Peter’s absolute pleasure, flinched at the memory. To Peter’s absolute horror, so did Tony. Bucky remained expertly indifferent, showing no visible change in emotion, besides for the look of shame that washed over the soldier’s face. At least the murderer had the decency to feel bad for his own shitty behaviour.

Rhodey sent Tony a worried glance, yet the billionaire refused to look anywhere but at Peter, a fearful shine in his desperate eyes. But what caught Peter’s attention was how perplexed everyone else seemed. Immediately, Peter realised why. “You didn’t tell them?” Peter cackled. “You didn’t tell your own ‘team’ – ‘family’ – as you refer to them – what you did in Siberia?” Peter was hysterical now, the glint in his eyes seeming psychotic and his laughter inhumane.

Suddenly, the webbing was ripped off Clint’s and Sam’s faces, the skin red where the web had stuck to their flesh. No one even saw him cross the room, and they had been staring at the boy. The bird-themed ‘heroes’ hissed in pain before recomposing forcefully when Peter addressed them, his grin cunning and promising no mercy. “Did either of you idiots know that Steve Rogers, the shield-wielding maniac that you sided with during a _war_, almost killed Mr Stark?”

Clint scoffed. “As if. Steve would’ve told us if something like that went down.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, his confidence that of someone who has already won. “Do you really believe that?” He hissed.

“I don’t know what made you want to tell lies like that, but we’re not stupid! So let us go and we might go easy on you, Spider Brat.” Sam advised, his response sounding planned and every word was spoken with a determination and anger Peter himself felt. But Peter’s anger was stronger by a lot, and he would make sure the Falcon knew so too. Sam would fear the kid’s burning rage if it’s the last thing Peter ever did.

And so would everyone else in this room.

“Clueless. You are all clueless idiots that don’t even _know_ the person you so loyally follow. Idiots.” Before they could shout out in denial, Peter covered their mouths with the sticky, white substance again and spun on his heel in order to face the Captain. The teenager ignored the bird-themed heroes completely, their grunts of surprise falling on deaf ears.

“You must be proud of yourself, Captain. You’ve fooled almost everyone in this room. Come on, then. Claim yourself innocent of your crimes. Do it. Do it for your blindly loyal group of _‘heroes’_.” Peter spat the final word out as though it disgusted him when relating it to the Rogues (which it did) and also coated it in thick sarcasm.

Everyone watched expectantly. They wanted to hear his denial. His refusal at the mere thought of committing such a crime. Because Steve Rogers wouldn’t do that. Not to a friend. Not to Tony.

Instead, the American Idol hung his head in shame. “I… I… ‘m s – s’rry… I… d’dn’t… kn… kn’w ‘t… w’s… th – th’t bad.” Peter was sure he would have heard shocked gasps at the confession had the group’s ability to speak had not been taken by the boy. Bucky looked angry. Furious that Peter would put his friend in such a situation. Tony was just sad. He stared at the floor with wide eyes that were filled with embarrassment. Peter didn’t know why his mentor felt so vulnerable and anxious.

The teenager could only guess that that was of Peter’s causing, and the guilt at the revelation was almost painful. He chose to distract himself with the fury that engulfed him at the stupid expression Steve had painted on his face. He looked so deserving of pity and as if searching for sympathy.

Peter couldn’t have that.

“No, I don’t think you are.” Peter snarled. Steve’s head shot up in surprise, his eyes wide and reflecting his perplexion and shock at the child’s declaration. Peter continued without a moments wait. “Because if you were sorry, you wouldn’t be coming here and calling the only human being that gives so much as a shit about your well-being _selfish_.”

Peter stalked towards the man. Everything seemed to fade away, and all that was left was Spider-Man and Captain America. Except Spider-Man didn’t have his mask, and looked exactly like Peter Parker, yet had none of the freshman’s anxiety. And Captain America had none of his bravery and courage, yet he was donning his blue, red and white outfit, his shield gone due to how he had abandoned it in Siberia next to Tony’s dying form. He looked scared and guilty, apologetic, and Peter was glad because he deserved to feel that way.

“Do you have any idea what Mr Stark has done for you?” Peter growled. He snapped around, glaring at every Rogue in turn. “For all of you!?” He shouted. Quickly, Peter composed himself and narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on Clint. “You remember your family?” He questioned, and watched in satisfaction as the archer’s eyes grew. “The one you never once visited since you ‘escaped’ the Raft?”

Clint flinched and stiffened at the mention of the family he had to run from. “Did you know that Mr Stark went to check on them the moment he was released from medical?” Peter stated more than asked. “That he babysat your children when your wife couldn’t? That he reassured your devastated, and worried family that he would find your kids’ father and bring him home, unharmed? Did you know that he spent thousands of dollars on them, pampering everyone living on that farm with whatever they wanted? That he finally provided your house with plumbing, and functioning electricity, and so much more? _Voluntarily? _”

The reaction Peter received was expected. The archer flicked his gaze from the kid in front of him to Tony for confirmation and back to the kid. Everyone else was doing the same, and the billionaire in question just stared at Peter in disbelief. But Peter didn’t have time for them. He simply continued his speech by turning to Scott.

“Did you know he did the same for your daughter? For Ms Hope and Mr Pym and all of your friends?” Antman didn’t seem able to look away but shook his head to answer that no, he was not aware. Because he hadn’t seen them, nor spoken to them in months and Peter knew that because the boy had helped Stark tend to these people's families and loved ones.

The teenager turned to Wanda. “You were public enemy Number 1 when you left. Mr Stark spoke on the news in your name. Mr Stark spent so much money campaigning in your honour and donated to all of the charities that you told him – _yourself_ – that you wanted to assist. And he gave you all of the fame. All of the credit. Right now, you have more fans than you ever did. Than you ever expected to.”

Peter looked at the girl before him in the eyes, his gaze softer than before in order to communicate understanding. He could see the hurt she felt from the years prior to now, and his own eyes mirrored that agony so perfectly it was revolting. He could tell she was conflicted. And he knew why. But he continued his rampage, anyway, determined to defend the man that had done so much for the boy.

“He made you all new weapons!” Peter spun around, moving away from Wanda knowing that if he stayed much longer, he would be tempted to never look away. Her strength could challenge that of an Infinity Stone (only six of which existed, each holding indescribable power (Peter had read up on them since hearing of the gem embedded in Vision’s head)). He wasn’t about to go and challenge that power Wanda held beneath her skin. Even now with the dampeners, he could feel her magic floating in the air carelessly. Peter doubted Wanda herself knew of her strength.

“Every single one of you. New armour, outfits, equipment. You name it! Each design fitted with the best technology he could manufacture. All of this, even after that ‘Civil War’. All of this even after you stabbed him in the back.” Peter lost some of the enthusiasm in his voice. “Almost too literally.”

He froze his wild hand gestures and stared sadly at Bucky, his angry words dying in his throat as he stared at the super-soldier. He seemed so… so helpless. So defeated that Peter wondered whether he was looking in a reflection because – wow – that look was a far too common sight nowadays for the kid.

“He followed you. He came with you to Siberia all alone. He told not a single soul. Even after Steve chose to fight Mr Stark for you he came. To offer a truce because it hurt him too much to fight with the closest thing to family he’s had in a lifetime. He followed you, Mr Barnes because Mr Rogers meant a lot to Mr Stark, and if_ you_ meant a lot to Mr Rogers, that meant you meant a lot to Mr Stark, too. He ignored every feeling of betrayal and anger and rage because he wanted to stop this _war_. Not for himself. But for his friends. And everyone he risked losing if he lost the two of you.” Peter felt drained. Empty. He looked at Bucky, begging the assassin silently to understand.

But when the spider-mutant looked at Steve, all hell broke loose.

Because this man – this man right in front of him – looked so uninterested. So unconvinced. So sure that he was still right despite all of Tony’s self-sacrifices and Peter doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to tear that man apart - limb from limb - more than he does now. 

“Stark… doesn’t care…” Steve’s speech was getting better, and Peter could tell his jaw had healed quite a bit. _Great. Now I can break it again._ “… if… if he did h – he wouldn’t h’ve… h’rt Bucky.” The man objected pathetically.

Peter roared. Like full-on, animal, predatory roar. “You would’ve reacted the same had you seen what he had!” He screamed, blinded by rage and the need to avenge his broken father-figure. “And I don’t care if you were watching the video at the same time he was! You saw only yourself and your friend! Mr Stark saw a man he considered family that had gone and lied to him for years! Years! About something so important to him! Something you knew had been a priority in his life since the day it happened!”

Peter suddenly calmed down, his body shaking. His fingers twitched and his head faced the floor. “He didn’t hurt you even then. Refused to. Let himself take every injury you gave him yet still refused to use his blasters at full strength. To use any of the updates that could have killed you in seconds. But he didn’t. He warned you of every attack move he was going to make and gave you far too many chances to back down. But you _didn’t_.” Peter paused, his voice cracking.

“You didn’t back down. Just fought. For Bucky, huh?” Peter chuckled and the sound was even worse than previously. “Do you want to know who found him? Who found Mr Stark after your fight?” The boy asked, his voice painfully quiet. Right then he seemed exactly like the scared kid that he was. “I did. With Mr Hogan and Ms Potts.”

Peter was crying now, the tears rolling down his pale cheeks and leaving a wet trail in their wake. “Two days. He’d been there for _two_ days.” Peter sobbed almost silently and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. For the first time in a while, the teenager stared Steve in the eyes. “Five broken ribs, a punctured lung, skull fracture, twelve _other_ broken or fractured bones, extreme blood loss, internal bleeding, extreme dehydration and hypothermia. To list a few.” Peter was slowly collecting his feelings, struggling to replace this overwhelming sadness with that oh so intimidating rage. But it was so hard. And he was _so_ tired.

“And I found him. I searched for him after the first day even though he didn’t give a shit about me after Germany. I tracked his suit to Siberia and was the first to see him, lying lifeless next to _your_ shield, Captain. It took a week to stabilize him and we had to put that arc reactor back in his chest to keep him _alive_. Mr Stark will be lucky if he survives to see his sixtieth birthday. And that was you. That was what you did!” Peter was slowly regaining that anger. Slowly replacing that sadness and grief with the rage that kept him from breaking down. From falling apart.

Because finding Mr Stark had been one of the most terrifying things Peter had ever experienced. And he’d seen a lot during his fifteen years of living. From people dying in his arms to kidnap and torture. He’d seen it all. But fearing that Tony was dead had hurt so much more than Peter expected it to.

Everyone looked horrified. They knew Stark had his arc reactor but didn’t know it was there for any other reason than to store and power his suit. Their terrified expressions encouraged Peter to continue. “And when he woke up and saw that God-forsaken machinery in his chest he ripped it right out, knowing that if he did he wouldn’t survive.” Peter shakily inhaled. “He wanted to die. And that was all you. Your fault.” Peter glared dangerously at Steve, eyes narrowed in anger and body tense with rage.

Peter didn’t think people could look that scared. That disgusted and horrified all at once. Shock mixed with sympathy that was topped with betrayal. These heroes had trusted Steve with their lives, but now they’ve just learned that he almost took the life of a good man. Of someone who, despite everything, was still their friend. “You used to say that you don’t trade lives.” Peter purred, yet the pain he felt was clear in his tone, “But that’s exactly what you did. Mr Stark’s life for Mr Barnes’ safety. A fair trade, right?”

Steve stared at his teammates. But no one would meet the Captain’s gaze. Even Bucky seemed so untrusting of Steve and Peter felt almost guilty for possibly ruining the pair’s friendship. Steve’s eyes travelled around the room before landing on Stark. The billionaire stared at the floor, not daring to look at anyone in fear of breaking down. Peter could tell by Tony’s expression. The teenager had seen it too many times in the mirror to not recognise that look.

“But he’s still trying to help you. Do you think you broke into the Raft on your own? No! Mr Stark let you in. He made sure the alarms wouldn’t ring as you snuck inside. Made sure the sensors wouldn’t pick you up. So how about you show some respect.” Peter growled. Steve tried to avert his gaze, look anywhere but at the boy. Peter couldn’t let that happen.

“And if you don’t,” The spider-mutant continued, his tone amused. A frightening grin tugged at Peter’s face. “I’ll make sure they never find the body.” He almost whispered, stepping back.

Peter was cackling and everyone looked terrified. Even Natasha despite how she hid it much better than anyone else. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got every person that was in that Germany fight tied up and stuck to the wall.” He pointed out. “I created technology that can stop Ms Maximoff from using her powers and disable an _Infinity Stone._”

Peter gestured to Vision, who’s red body had gone grey and immobile. The gem in his forehead no longer glowed brightly and was instead dark in colour like the rest of him. For the first time in a while, everyone looked over to the android, and panicked at the sight that they were met with. Especially Wanda.

But Peter ignored them in favour of glaring at Steve with an overly cheerful smile. The boy looked and sounded insane, which was only that much more terrifying. “I can lift ten times more than you can, Rogers, and my senses are so much more advanced than you could ever dream your own to be. I’ve lifted entire buildings off my back and crashed a plane while fighting my date’s deranged father on said plane. All while severely injured. I can dodge bullets while blindfolded and heal from a stab wound in a few hours.” Peter stated the facts so smoothly that no one dared question the teenager.

“I could snap your neck without blinking.” Peter purred, grabbing Steve’s head. He held it tightly, applying enough pressure to make it hurt, but not break anything. “I could kill you right now. It would be so easy.” Steve was sweating profusely and was trying uselessly to pull away from the kid.

Peter frowned, his brown eyes holding so much hatred it was as though there were lost souls screaming for freedom inside. “So maybe watch what you say about Mr Stark. But that’s only if you care for your ability to breathe. Or have a beating heart in your chest.” The teenager spat before releasing his hold on Captain America and shrugging carelessly.

“The footage from Siberia will be coming on in about,” Peter paused and pulled his phone out of his pocket before quickly turning it on and checking the time. “Look at that. Ten minutes until Shuri will make ya’ll watch the whole thing. From the truce to the almost-murder.” Peter glared at Steve for a few seconds before looking up to the ceiling. “Did Shuri watch this whole thing so far?”

T’challa was staring at Peter, expression hidden by his mask. It seemed that the mention of his sister had captured his attention. “Of course, Peter. The princess also states that she would like to have a look at the technology you used to temporarily immobilise Wanda and Vision.” Karen replied, her voice smooth and robotic.

Tony’s head snapped up, and he eyed Peter as if to say; _‘tell me you didn’t do what I think you did’_. “Great. And tell her thanks again for giving me access to Wakanda’s Vibranium supplies. They worked great with my webs." Peter added, choosing to deal with Tony in a bit.

The mention of Vibranium had everyone staring at Peter with even wider eyes than before._ If they open their eyes any wider, I fear they might fall out of their sockets._ He mentally chuckled. “Okay. You probably want to know what that’s about.” Peter sighed. “And I'll tell you later, Mr Stark. Because I refuse to say anything about my personal life when that bastard is in the room.” The teenager pointed to Steve, expression dark and menacing. Seeing that expression on a sweet, 15-year-old's face was horrifying enough to be traumatising. No child should ever look so haunted.

Everyone stiffened and everted their gaze in fear of meeting the teenager's eyes. Peter groaned at that. Clearly, despite how amusing their reactions had been to Shuri, the boy wasn’t really enjoying them. _I'm so done with these fools. I already did what I needed to anyway. Wait -_ Suddenly, Peter reached for his jacket pocket frantically before revealing a small vial that contained an opaque, grey liquid.

“Catch.” He said in warning before tossing it to Tony. The billionaire used his free hand to catch it on instinct before pulling the glass container up to his face to examine. “That,” Peter began, pointing to the thing Toy held, “Will melt through the webs and release you. It’s perfectly painless and won’t affect anything but the webs. Sadly, there’s only enough there for yourself and maybe four other people.” He said nonchantly as if it weren’t that big a deal. “The rest of you will just have to wait for the webs to dissolve in an hour or two.”

Peter’s features then softened. “Mr Stark, if you don’t want them to see that video, just say so once you’re free. Karen will recognise your voice and respond to you and you alone. And don’t worry, this recording that Karen took of the meeting is even harder to hack than the Compound or FRIDAY. And only Shuri has access to it. I don’t even have access to it. And the technology that’s stopping Ms Maximoff and Mr Vision from using their powers? The blueprints were long ago destroyed, and the actual machinery will self-destruct itself in three hours and forty-five minutes. The explosion will be minimal and cause almost no damage to the Compound.” He reassured calmly.

Suddenly, a soft beeping sounded from Peter’s phone and he hurried to silence it. “Well, that’s my cue! You guys have fun in here!” Peter announced with a wave and forced smile. The anger in his narrowed eyes betrayed the false act of friendliness and Peter knew this. But he didn't care. He spun on his heel to face an almost barren wall that was opposite to the door Tony and Rhodey were stuck to. The teenager strode quickly towards it before pausing. “Oh, yeah! How could I have forgotten!”

Peter face-palmed before turning to face everyone again. Swiftly, he released another string of webs from his wrists that caught onto the web everyone in the room had on their mouths. With a quick pull of his arms, the webs were ripped off the people’s mouths painfully fast. Everyone groaned as their skin, red and irritated, reflected the agony that Peter’s action had left them in.

The boy then pressed his right palm to the wall, causing it to open revealing a door that not even Tony was aware of. Peter stepped into the secret hallway and just as he was about to close the door he looked to Tony with a wide, childish smile. He giggled and lifted a hand to his mouth to muffle the sounds. But Peter's next sentence was said so flatly - so smoothly and threateningly that the grin the spider-mutant wore seemed more malicious than anything. 

“Been waiting to that for months.”

And with that the door was closed, blending back perfectly into the wall as though it were never there. The room was quickly engulfed in silence before a bewildered Clint shattered the fragile quiet.

“The fu –“

\---


	2. Siberia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They begin watching the footage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Sh*t. Infinity War must have really f*cked me up if immediately after writing 'I'm sorry' I thought about our favourite cinnamon roll turning to dust on a faraway planet. Anyway, back to the point. I'm sorr - you know what, I'm not going to say it again. I apologise. 
> 
> Yeah... I apologise. 
> 
> I told several people in the comments that I'd try to get this chapter up before the end of October. In my defence, I did also say that I might not and that I would try. No guarantees. And I'm only four days late so...
> 
> Okay, now read my chapter!

“Been waiting to that for months.”

Tony watched in bewilderment and pure pride as the door – the door that shouldn’t even exist – shut before sliding perfectly back into place. If Stark hadn’t just watched Peter walk through a door that not even he – the one who created the blueprints for this building and paid to have it built – was aware of, the billionaire would never have known there was anything there besides brick and concrete, painted a ghostly white of Tony’s own choosing.

Stunned into silence along with the rest of the group, Tony realised how pale his face must seem in comparison to everyone else’s irritated skin. Tony presumed this was of Peter’s causing from when the boy had carelessly ripped off the webs he’d stuck there, but with Tony and Rhodey Peter did so much gentler so that all the billionaire and his friend felt was a slight pinch. Eventually, a certain archer shattered the uncomfortable silence.

“The fuck!“

The room erupted with conversations. Tony guessed that Katniss over there meant to say something more, like how insane it was that a kid was not only Spider-Man but also able to beat him so easily (Tony knew Clint; the archer was probably thinking it the entire time Peter threatened Steve). Unfortunately, the first few words that left Clint’s lips were like a trigger for everyone else. A trigger that caused them to all start gossiping between themselves like a group of teenage school-girls discussing the new guy on the football team.

Thankfully, no one really paid much attention to Tony. He personally didn’t think he could handle having a billion questions thrown at him all at once considering the fact that he was still processing what his kid – the kid – just said. Just did. Stark assumed everyone else was trying to wrap their head around it too and were probably too busy trying to accomplish that to focus on him. Currently, the billionaire was conflicted with emotions of pride, fear, concern and joy. And he didn’t know which one he should feel because they were all so contradicting but so relevant and the mechanic was starting to feel confused too because – _ugh! _

_Why does everyone have to be so fucking loud? _

Bucky was asking Steve if he was okay, and Steve forced out a reply through gritted teeth and a broken jaw he definitely deserved. Wanda as trying to get Vision to wake up to no avail, by shouting from where she was opposite him stuck to the wall. Natasha was demanding silence and Tony could tell the noise was giving her a headache as the mechanic could relate. T’Challa said nothing, seemingly trying to wrap his head around the fact that Peter knew his sister, Shuri. Tony was personally curious about how that came to be and was sure to question the boy after all of this was over.

Clint was swearing under his breathe about the webs that kept him trapped in an apparently uncomfortable position and how embarrassing it was that a kid over-powered him. Sam was shouting at anyone who made the mistake of listening about how that kid can’t have been the one to ‘web him up’ in Berlin, and that he demanded Steve explain what’s going on. Scott was trying to grow himself back to normal size, as when Peter had stuck Antman to the wall, he had done so before Lang had the chance to press the button on his belt that controlled his size.

Scott was a tiny spot on the wall and practically drowning in the web keeping him there while trying uselessly to change that. Antman happened to also be voicing his annoyance through a built-in speaker and rather infuriating grunts and other noises, as well as an inappropriate use of language that Steve would have frowned upon, had the super-soldier not been occupied with Bucky’s constant questioning.

And Rhodey… Rhodey was the worst. He just stared at Tony with this sad almost pitying look that Stark hated. The billionaire knew that his friend wanted answers and to comfort Tony, but Rhodey couldn’t move and didn’t ask a single question verbally. Just stared. Tried to use his eyes to communicate his support and love and Tony hated that it was working.

Choosing to ignore his best friend, Tony glanced at the vial that he had been absent-mindedly fiddling with in his only free hand. Deciding that he had been stuck here for far too long, Stark lifted his arm up and locked his teeth firmly on the lid of the container. He twisted his wrist as far as it would go without hurting and made sure that his grip on the lid didn’t loosen. With an almost silent _‘click’_ the small bottle opened giving Tony access to its contents.

Immediately, the billionaire gently lowered his hand as to not spill any of the precious liquid and spit out the plastic lid, ignoring the quiet _‘bang’_ that echoed around the room when it bounced off the floor. In his haste to release himself from his restraints, Tony didn’t even notice how the room had quietened significantly. But the engineer _could_ feel their eyes burning into his skull as Stark examined the grey contents closely. It stunk similarly of bleach, the smell intoxicating when in close proximity with Tony’s nose.

_Why in the world are those idiots still looking at me? _

An exasperated sigh replaced a normal exhale which was closely accompanied with an eye-roll. Reluctantly, Tony lifted his gaze in order to meet the inpatient and perplexed expressions of the entire Avengers team – Rogue or not – plus extras and minus one Doctor Banner and one God of Thunder. Groaning at the sight of the expected and rather un-original reactions to what just went down, Tony fought the urge to repeat his previous eye-roll. Instead, the billionaire chose to try and relax the clearly tense atmosphere with one of his infamous, snarky comments.

“If you want me to build you a sex toy, you’ll have to wait a while. I’m busy. Go mingle.” Tony waved them off dismissively with his free hand, careful to do so without spilling any of the precious liquid, before going back to examining the vial with close precision.

Clint scoffed while the other spies and assassins frowned in disapproval. Those who were neither a spy nor an assassin recoiled so suddenly at the billionaire’s surprisingly fluent and smooth commentary that their heads smashed into the wall (Stark would have laughed if he weren’t so surprised himself). To his credit, Tony didn’t so much as flinch at the glare Natasha sent his way, long ago having gotten used to being on the receiving end of Black Widow’s vicious stare, and chose to instead experiment the liquid’s acidic abilities by pouring a small, miniscule drop onto some of the webbing on his other arm. To his absolute awe, every bit of the Spider-Kid’s webs within a ten-inch radius of the drop dissolved almost instantly, leaving the billionaire staring at the sleeve of his AC/DC t-shirt and his partially tanned upper-arm. Which was perfectly unharmed and unaffected by its recent contact with the mysterious, grey solution.

“Holy shit.”

Tony wasn’t sure exactly how many people said that same phrase simultaneously. Stark just knew that he was one of them. His eyes were wide and reflected his inner surprise at how efficiently this mysterious liquid worked. At some point during Tony’s mindless staring, the thought that Peter made this stuff crossed his conscious. A grin tugged at the corner of Stark’s lips as he silently contemplated his – the – kid’s intelligence.

Tony shook his head in order to clear his thoughts and focus once again on the task at hand. As quickly as he could, the engineer mentally calculated how many people this small container of liquid would be able to free (despite Peter already having stated the answer but, in Tony’s defence, he was still in shock). He did so by taking into consideration how much webbing a single drop could dissolve.

He eventually decided (after several seconds of solving unnecessarily complicated math equations (in his head)) that if he managed to ration the liquid carefully and only use it on the essential areas where the webbing connected them to the wall, he could get five – maybe more – members of the unlikely group down (including himself). It was likely that there would still be a fairly large amount of Peter’s artificial, white webs still stuck to their clothes, but it wouldn’t stay there forever and there was nothing he could do about it. It was basically either release five people, or only three but get rid of all of the kid’s webs that resided on their clothes.

Tony worked smart, not hard, so when he started working on releasing himself, he did so carefully.

With every drop he watched fall onto the webs, he made sure to work with a rare consideration of those that surrounded him. Which was definitely not – _at all –_ because everyone’s eyes were still on him because Tony Stark does not care what people think of him. Especially not Steve Rogers because all trust and brotherly love they had for one another died when Cap chose Bucky over him. When the ‘American-Idol’ revealed his knowledge of Maria and Howard Starks’ murder._ I don’t care what he thinks anymore. I don’t._ But Tony might as well have been arguing with a brick wall rather than his own conscious because no matter how many times the engineer reassured himself, repeated that phrase like a mantra, the words never stuck.

Maybe some part of him believed he deserved what happened in Siberia.

Maybe he did.

Suddenly, the room darkened significantly, but not to the point of which everyone was left completely blind to their surroundings. “Protocol ‘Let’s Take Their Heads Out of Their Asses’ has been initiated. Warning; all abilities to stop, pause or enable protocol will be removed once video begins playing in 10…9…8…7…” It took Stark an embarrassingly long time to realise what Karen was referring to, but by the time Tony finally had, she had already reached – “2… 1.”

The AI’s usually chipper voice sounded terrifyingly robotic as she reached the final numbers of her countdown. Tony didn’t even get a chance to think – to decide if he really wanted everyone here to witness what Steve had done to him – and the engineer was strangely glad for it. Some small part of him knew he would have refused to show anyone that nightmare fuel. But Stark also knew that would be a choice he would forever regret because if they didn’t see it now, they would later.

As a three-dimensional hologram flickered to life around them though, Tony began to really doubt himself.

Like _really_ doubt himself.

The hologram had an obvious blue hue that varied in shades in order to compensate for the lack of other colours. Most of Tony’s holograms had a larger range of colours so it was obvious Peter had used an older model in order to make it not only harder to track, but also to identify. And if the kid was going through all of that trouble, there must be a reason beyond not wanting anyone to get their hands on this footage. Tony himself hadn’t watched it before as he had been there when it all happened so there really wasn’t a point. Besides maybe torturing himself by revisiting those traumatising memories.

One thing became clear, though, as the impossible-to-forget metal walls appeared in hologram form: if they were going to watch this god-forsaken footage, Tony was _not_ going to be here to watch it with them. So, as any normal person would do in this situation, he visibly sped up his work, splashing the liquid with no regard for savouring the limited supply.

In the room they were in, the holograms showed heavy, metal double doors that were practically wide open, with snow, dark rocks and an almost grey, cloud-covered sky on the opposite side. From that barren landscape approached two figures, easily identifiable to the group as Steve Rogers and his companion, Bucky. Despite the lack of actual, accurate colours, Tony swore he could see the red of Roger’s shield.

The past Steve was the first to enter, circular shield in hand, with Bucky only a few steps behind. They didn’t speak to one another and simply journeyed in silence. Due to the suffocating quiet in the room, Tony, along with everyone else, could clearly hear their loud, echoing footsteps as they travelled through the bunker. The camera followed them seamlessly, giving off the effect that the humanoid projections were walking on the spot and the walls themselves were moving.

Everyone was so concentrated on the holograms that they paid no attention to Tony. That is, until, he managed to free himself from the wall completely, crashing to the floor with a_ ‘bang’,_ and barely avoiding spilling what remained in the vial. The inventor could feel their eyes burning into his skin as the holograms continued to move, ignorant to the events currently taking place within the same area.

Somewhere behind him, Tony heard Rhodey speak his name, but Stark was in too much of a panic to care to respond. The hologram Bucky and Steve had left the elevator they were in at this point, and were cautiously walking around with guns raised. Tony knew he didn’t have long before the past him presented himself to the pair, so the billionaire knew his time was running out. Running out too quickly for Stark to ever hope to keep up.

He had to leave. He had to leave now. He couldn’t watch this replay. Not now.

Not ever.

So Tony clumsily jumped to his feet, somehow aware enough to leave the bottle on the floor in an up-right position. He raced for the door, desperate for an escape. Desperate to be far away from here and never look back. But the fucking thing wouldn’t open! Tony growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the locked door as if it would do anything.

“Fuck!” He shouted with a final kick.

He was trapped. Stuck. _No, no, no, no, no – this can’t be happening! No! Let me the fuck out!_ “Tony, it’s going to be fine. Calm down.” Rhodey assured. _Had I said that out loud? Whatever. I need to get out!_

Stark was hysterical. He could feel the approaching panic attack tugging at his distressed mind, and he tried to resist. He couldn’t break down here. Not now. Not in front of them. Stark men were made of steel. Stark men did not have panic attacks in front of practically everyone they are close to. Or _were_ close to.

The holograms had reached a set of stairs which were high enough that if an average-height man stood at the top of them, their head would be in the ceiling of the actual, material surroundings. Tony hoped that would be the case so that the footage would become at least slightly less visible. But, to Stark’s absolute horror, the ceiling rose!

It rose so that the hologram Bucky was fully visible atop his perch and Stark was scared now because –

“You seem a little defensive.”

Tony hadn’t heard the familiar clanging of his Iron Man suit as the hologram version of himself materialised before his eyes. His – no, _it’s_ – head was tilted to the side slightly in a cocky manner, and a look of partial hesitation shone in its eyes. The helmet was retracted back into the suit already, and the bruises on the hologram Tony’s face were strangely prominent despite its inaccurate colouring. Or maybe Stark was just imagining it.

He probably was.

Tony – _Tony2_ – approached hologram Steve and Bucky confidently, but Stark remembered the fear he’d felt even then. He was just so used to pretending it was hard to forget not to sometimes. Then Rogers took a step or two forwards, shield still raised protectively.

“It’s been a long day.” It replied, eyes focused on Tony2’s every movement.

“At ease, soldier. I’m not currently after you.” Tony2 reassured casually, but at this point, Stark – the real one – was practically paralyzed.

All he could do was stare numbly as the events unfolded. Stare as the past him makes mistakes that still haunt the engineer to this day. He didn’t want to. He wanted nothing more than to leave. And if he couldn’t do that he would curl up around himself and cover his ears so that he didn’t have to watch. But the moment his voice echoed around the room all rational thinking went out the window. All self-control burned up in flames leaving behind a hollow version of himself that was just _frozen. _

“Then why are you here?” Hologram Steve countered smoothly, not yet trusting of the man he had only recently fought against.

Tony2 bent his –_ its_ – elbows, raising its arms up partially so that its hands were above its hips. The humanoid projection had the decency to seem at least a little sheepish. “Maybe your story’s not so crazy.” It couldn’t even meet Steve’s eyes as it spoke if the way its head turned to glance to the side was anything to go by.

Everyone present was watching with such interest it was scary. They hardly blinked and never dared to look away or speak in fear of missing something important. No one had ever seen them so quiet. It freaked Tony out – well, it would have if he wasn’t so busy doing the same.

“Maybe.” Tony2 continued, shifting in an anxious manner on its feet. Stark assumed that it’d be viewed as hesitation though more than anything. “Ross has no idea you’re here and I’d like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I’d have to arrest myself.”

Tony remembered saying that.

He’d added the ‘arrested’ part because he didn’t want to seem like he cared too much. Stark was known widely by the public as someone who only looked out for himself, and during that moment, showing the vulnerability of not being that selfish person scared the inventor. His entire life Tony had hidden behind the title that was his name, and not being able to that in that situation – although hard to admit – _scared_ him.

“Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” Rogers nodded despite not being 100% serious.

And Tony2 chuckled. It was a dry sound with no real emotion behind it and even the smirk was forced. But it was believable enough then for Steve so maybe it’ll be believable enough for everyone else now. And then hologram Steve lowered its shield. At that moment in time, Stark didn’t think he’d ever felt so relieved before. He’d gotten his friend back.

He’d gotten his _brother_ back.

“It’s good to see you, Tony.” Rogers admitted.

The surprised expression lasted on Tony2’s face for about a second before understanding washed across its features. “You too.” Stark had replied and back then, he’d meant it.

He really had.

Oh, how times have changed.

Then Tony2 said something to hologram Bucky who still had its gun raised defensively. Tony couldn’t make out what exactly was said nor remember the words uttered. Stark’s brain felt fuzzy, and each memory seemed blurred. He knew it was something about a truce, and could vaguely make out hologram Bucky moving its loaded gun down to its side rather than where it was previously pointed at Tony2’s head.

“We’ve got heat signatures.”

“How many?”

Tony2 seemed to hesitate before replying; “One.”

And just like that Stark was back, in reality, mentally confused on why he had just suddenly zoned out there for a second. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his breaths were short and fast and on the edge of hysterical. No one else appeared aware of his own breathing difficulties besides Natasha but she knew everything, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. She sent him a worried glance, but he just brushed it off with a ‘thumbs-up’ gesture and returned to watching the holograms.

They were there now.

In that room.

That room where Tony found out just what it was that had killed his parents. Or, more accurately, _who_. His feet still felt rooted to the ground and his body felt so heavy that trying to move any more than he just had seemed like a waste of energy.

“If it’s any comfort –“

Tony visibly tensed. And so did Steve and Bucky – _the real ones_ – but Stark couldn’t have cared less. As much as the billionaire hated Steve, he hated that man, the one who had just spoken, so much more. Because he had set that stupid thing up! Planned it all! Single-handedly caused a group of superheroes to fall apart, crumble into a disorganised mess and hurt each other mercilessly in the process. Then, like the coward he was, shot himself long before anyone bothered to search for the guy responsible for this mess. Most of it at least.

“– they died in their sleep.”

His reassurance meant nothing. And when – after a second or so of standing perfectly still – the trio finally continued walking, they came across the first body; a bullet hole clearly displayed on the glass tube containing the corpse. Hologram Bucky moved on, though, seeming visibly unphased if a little shaken.

“Did you really think I wanted more of you?” The question was clearly directed at Bucky and held a seemingly teasing tone. Like they were mere children, foolish and naïve if the thought so much as crossed their minds.

And he knew it had. He fucking knew because he’d set that up for his own benefit. That bastard.

“What the hell?” Hologram Bucky murmured, its gun still raised protectively in front of it, ready to shoot.

And then they spotted the other people. Other Winter Soldiers with dried blood coming from bullet holes in their heads or chests. Every one of those experiments were dead, and the holograms displayed that so well it was nerve-racking. It was almost like Tony was still there, looking at the corpses with clear confusion even though his helmet once again covered his face.

“I’m grateful to them, though.” Baron Zemo continued, unaffected by their reactions. And his next words, although spoken months ago, still made Tony’s blood run cold. “They brought you here.”

Stark could practically feel everyone stiffen around him despite their probable perplexion. The atmosphere grew tense, and the only three men aware of what was about to happen had similar, wide-eyed expressions. Similar instincts to turn and run but they couldn’t because they were either stuck, forced to watch, or paralysed in their own fear.

And then a light came on and Baron’s smiling face was visible on the wall where Peter had left through. Instinctively, Iron Man aimed its repulsor and Captain America threw its shield. The circular disc, though, only bounced back into Steve’s grip where it positioned it back onto its arm.

“Please, Captain.” He spoke over the speaker with a confidence that could rival Tony’s. “The Soviet’s built this chamber to withstand a launch blast of UR-100 rockets.” Baron stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m betting I could beat that.” Tony2 announced as Steve, Bucky and itself dispersed around the room.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, Mr Stark.” _No. No._ Only Peter gets to call him that. _Only Peter. No one else and especially not fucking Baron Zemo!_ Something buried deep in his mind reminded Tony that he had hardly known Peter then, but that hardly mattered now. “Given time.” He added. “But then you’d never know why you came.”

Hologram Steve seemed mad and slightly disbelieving. “You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” The soldier continued walking as it spoke, voice void of emotion.

Baron made a noise similar to a chuckle but more akin to an exaggerated exhale that lifted his lip upwards slightly before his expression flattened again. Now, hologram Steve stood right before the window the villain hid behind. The two made eye contact, and, with a chilling seriousness, Baron replied; “I’ve thought of nothing else for over a year.”

And then Zemo shifted in order to move closer to Steve. “I studied you.” He declared. “I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I just realised…” Here he paused, shuffling even closer to Rogers and staring right it. “There’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.”

Tony assumed that the group would have been more surprised by the seemingly random statement if they weren’t so alert. So prepared for a fight that seemed to be coming even though these were only holograms of previous events and they were all stuck to the walls except Tony. Even though it wasn’t the present but a past experience. So then, answer Stark this:

Why did it feel so real? So current? _So now?_

Was it because Steve and Bucky were in the room with him? Because these holograms, although coloured in strictly blue, looked so strangely realistic that it made it hard to identify people from projections? Or was it just because the memories were still so fresh in Tony’s mind, the trauma so raw that it warped his sense of fiction and non-fiction?

Baron proceeded with his monologue, chuckling after his last spoken sentence, but he promptly cut himself off. “How nice to find a flaw.” He mused.

“You’re Sokovian.” Hologram Steve stated with a forced, neutral expression painted on its face. “Is that what this is about?” That particular question didn’t require elaboration.

Something as big as Ultron tended to be hard to forget.

Baron shook his head as he spoke. “Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell.” At that, Stark had to restrict a cringe. Guilt seemed to be something that never washed away. “No,” Zemo answered. “I’m here because I made a promise.”

A few seconds of silence before fake Rogers shattered it pitilessly. “You lost someone?”

And the villain swallowed, smacking his lips before replying; “I lost everyone.” Another pause. “And so will you.”

Baron turned away and bent down slightly, pressing a button or pulling a lever that lit up the screen of a nearby computer. The thing was ancient, and a disgrace to modern technology in Tony’s opinion. In curiosity, hologram Steve turned to examine the device, turning its head to look back at Zemo questioningly only once. On the computer screen was the number sixteen and nineteen-ninety-one in white writing with a word in between. It was not English so to everyone besides Tony it seemed like nothing but gibberish. But Stark had searched it up, despite the task being an unnecessary one.

It was a date.

_The_ date.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again.” Baron announced. “But one which crumbles from within?” The question was rhetorical and promptly answered by the one who asked it. “That’s dead.” Hologram Steve just stared at the guy when those two words were spoken. “Forever.”

Slowly, Tony2 and Bucky – _Bucky2_ – wandered over until they were nearby the computer as well. During the few seconds it took them to reach their destination, the image changed from the date to bad-quality camera footage of a dirt road in a night-time setting. Tony2 was the first of the newly approached pair to actually see the screen. Within seconds, the projection’s facial expression changed from mild boredom to confusion, to realisation and, finally, to fear, its head tilting to the side sometime during that process before straightening again.

“I know that road.” Tony2 informed, stepping half a step forward in order to get a better look. To just _check_ if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Stark new. He knew exactly what had been going on through Tony2’s head at that moment because that had been _him_. Standing in a Siberian bunker, surrounded by dead bodies, two man he still hardly trusted and Baron Zemo, the dickhead that _almost_ ruined everything, then smashed what the billionaire had managed to salvage into tiny pieces. Like fragments of a friendship which left physical scars on all those involved as well as mental trauma.

Only now that Tony was watching these events unfold rather than experiencing them did he see the fear on Steve’s face too. “What is this?!” Tony2 shouted amongst spotting the date on the VHS tape. The projection looked to Baron in search of answers.

All he received was silence.

Once Tony2 seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to receive a response any time soon, his eyes hesitantly trailed back to the computer screen, mouth still partially open as if wanting to speak but forgetting how. Then the humanoid projections vanished, and the computer was replaced with a cuboid that was about as tall as Tony was. It now rested in the exact centre of the room. On each side were screens.

Screens that showed the same thing at the exact same time. Screens that were positioned the way they were so that everyone in the room could see them clearly. The holograms, to Tony’s dismay, temporarily gained colour so that the screens would seem clearer.

Stark didn’t watch. He couldn’t. It had hurt so much the first time and he knew it would only hurt more the second. So the inventor closed his eyes firmly. He raised his hands to his head and covered his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the almost silent video.

The video that was silent for everything but the voices of the people in it.

Tony doesn’t need to describe what was shown on that video, and he doesn’t think he could if he tried. It’s not that he didn’t remember it. He did. He remembered it so well it was unnatural and hurt his very _being_ to so much as _think_ about because –

“Help my wife.”

Gasps echoed around the room simultaneously, and even people like Natasha who knew_ where_ this video was recorded gasped too because of who it was that approached the injured Howard Stark. Eyes shifted from himself to Bucky to Steve to the video over and over again. The soldiers had the humanity to lower their heads in shame, but it took all that Tony had right then and there not to cry. _Why in the fucking hell can I still hear it! Shut up!_

“Please. Help” The words were followed by a gasp from the same man who had spoken, as the world-famous inventor of his time was yanked forcefully by his hair and pulled back from his crawling position. His back hit his car silently and the blood on his face was now painfully clear.

Tony wasn’t even fucking watching but he could still see it all happening!

“Sergeant Barnes?” The man wheezed between pants.

To his left, Rhodey was eyeing his friend with an impossible amount of concern that the engineer surely didn’t deserve, whilst attempting to watch the screens at the same time. It was, obviously, not overly effective but it seemed to work for Rhodey and that’s all that mattered. Now, if Tony could just remember how to breathe he could assure his friend that his worry was not necessary because the billionaire was clearly fine.

“Howard!”

Tony audibly choked on a sob. His feelings for his father were minimal, but his mother, Maria, and their butler/chauffeur, Jarvis, were the only people Tony had felt close to the majority of his childhood. They were his everything. Now, hearing his mother’s desperate voice shout out for her husband moments before both of them were killed was _agony_. It hurt. It hurt so much, and Tony knew it shouldn’t, but it did.

Then the group watched in a terrified silence as Barnes punched Howard repeatedly in the face with his metal fist. There was no remorse on his face. No hesitation.

“Howard!”

Everyone but Tony stared as the man’s lifeless body was placed back into the car, right beside Maria’s still very much alive form. He was positioned strategically back into his seat to make it seem as though the car crash had killed him, not the Winter Solider. Then, the video Bucky walked around the car toward the passenger side where Tony’s mother was panting in her seat, looking anywhere but at Howard.

And then they watched as Bucky chocked her, staring dead-ahead above the top of the car as he did. Tony was pretty sure Wanda was crying, and that there was at least some moisture in Rhodey’s eyes, but Tony didn’t lift his head from where he had curled in on himself nor opened his eyes to check. Not until it was completely over.

And, eventually, after what felt like years, the video Bucky pointed his gun at the camera, and it finally was.

All eyes were on Tony as he hesitantly uncurled and let his body relax a little. “Tony –“ Rhodey began but the billionaire cut him off with a ‘stop’ gesture.

“Don’t.” He interrupted, eyeing the rest of the group as if daring them to say a word about what they just saw. Luckily, they weren’t as stupid as they looked and chose to remain silent (although begrudgingly) for the time being. Unfortunately, the worst wasn’t over yet.

It had hardly even begun.

The hologram cuboid glitched once before vanishing completely. There was that quick second – that rare moment – where Tony thought it would end there. That that was all Karen – no, _Shuri_ (as previously mentioned by Peter) – was going to show the group. And Stark was understandably relieved.

But then the holograms flickered back to life, except this time they took humanoid forms.

There stood Tony2, Bucky2 and hologram Steve (Rogers’ ‘double’ didn’t deserve to receive an actual name as the others had), crowded around that fucking computer like they had been before they were replaced with those screens. Stark assumed that it would skip to the part where the trio fought, which, ultimately, led to Tony’s defeat.

But no.

Instead, Tony2 repeated its previous question, expression still confused and scared. Like he – _it_ – hadn’t seen the video yet. “What is this?!”

Stark swallowed the lump in his throat forcefully as the hologram version of himself slowly allowed its eyes to travel to the computer screen. Tony remembered his hesitance at that moment, thinking that maybe – just maybe – he was mistaken. That that wasn’t the road that _they_ died on because no one was able to retrieve any footage from the destroyed camera.

That it had to be fake.

Tony could identify the exact moment that the white car crashed into the stationary tree. Tony2 stepped closer not a moment after, eyes already moist despite the lack of other, actual, _visible_ people on the screen. The billionaire clearly remembered wanting to look away. To run out of that fucking bunker without looking back. But he hadn’t.

Because, back then, much like now, the engineer had been paralysed with fear.

The holograms were arranged differently, in a way that allowed almost everyone to have a clear view of the projections’ expressions. Their backs were to the wall that Peter had left through, which was a smart move considering it left only Scott and Vision unable to see Tony2’s face. And Lang wasn’t relevant. Nobody here was close to the man and the man wasn’t close to anyone present. Scott was hardly even acquainted with half of the group.

And Vision, well… Vision was unresponsive.

Tony2 stared at the screen in silent horror as someone – _someone_ he hadn’t been able to recognise immediately due to the lights flashing at the camera from whoever’s vehicle – rode up to the scene with chilling confidence. Hologram Steve wasn’t looking at the screen though. It was staring at Tony’s double, obvious alertness clear in its weary gaze.

But Tony2 just leaned forward towards the computer, watching intently. It didn’t notice hologram Steve’s stare as it dug into its back, or Bucky2’s hung head that lifted slightly in order to allow _the murderer_ a decent view of Tony2 before the super-soldier straightened completely. Too soon for comfort, Howard’s voice was echoing around the room again, but to Tony’s relief, at a quieter volume than previously.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Stark had already recognised the man in the video at that point in time, but hearing the verification coming from Howard himself was plain agony. The inventor could still feel the way his heart had momentarily stopped beating, like a phantom pain that haunted his subconsciousness. In sync with Maria’s first exclamation, Tony2 finally tore its gaze away from the computer in order to glance at Bucky2, who refused to meet the other humanoid projection’s eyes.

A second passed before Tony2 resumed its careful watch of the video, betrayal and anger slowly overpowering the initial denial. Tony2’s whole body shook as punch after punch collided with his father’s face, its eyes closing when watching became too unbearable. But they opened not long before Howard collapsed face-first into the grass and dirt. Tony2’s shaking was undeniable at this point, and his previously rhythmic breaths derayed from their pattern.

Tony2’s eyes widened in pure terror as Maria’s bloodied form most probably (read: definitely) became clearer, its lips parted as if frozen mid-sentence. When the video ended, hologram Steve blinked his gaze from the Bucky in the video to Tony2, mouth partially open in preparation to verbally defend its friend. Hologram Rogers even had the fucking nerve to seem exhausted and begin panting as if _it_ had been the one to discover some hidden secret years too late.

There was that brief moment where the trio stood in silence. Stark could even clearly remember his panicked and desperate thoughts that had searched frantically for a lie. For any indication that that wasn’t real. _There are five stages of grief._ Came a taunting voice in the present Stark’s mind.

_And the first is denial._

But when he’d inevitably drawn a blank, a burning fury had caused his blood to boil. Because his parents’ murderer had been standing a mere few feet away from him, never having received justice for the lives he’d taken. The people he’d murdered that left young Stark utterly alone with more responsibly than he could possibly have handled.

So Tony2 rushed a frantic step towards Bucky2, that Stark hardly remembered turning to face. But hologram Steve grabbed the humanoid projection from behind before it made it any closer to its target.

“No, Tony.” Hologram Steve commanded strictly.

Then Tony2 turned its head to face hologram Steve, the rest of its body quickly copying the action. At first, Tony2 stared at the floor before its eyes rose to meet hologram Steve’s, a growing rage manifesting in its still damp eyes. As it finally spoke, Tony2’s head tilted to the side in questioning.

“Did you know?”

And hologram Steve _hesitated. Hesitated_. That had been Tony’s first clue that whatever was going to leave that man’s lips wasn’t going to be true. “I didn’t know it was him.”

Betrayal is a funny thing.

Tony had experienced the feeling many times in his years of living. There was Obadiah with his company. Howard with parenting. Fuck – even reporters. And so many friends that Tony had thought he’d made in his MIT days. Turned out, only one of them out of possible hundreds actually wanted to have any sort of relationship with Tony for anything other than the guy’s money and status.

But – to date – the betrayal that had hurt the most had been Steve’s. Had been Sam’s and Clint’s and Wanda’s and _Natasha’s_ when they sided against Tony in a verbal fight turned physical. When they paralysed Rhodey from the waist down then didn’t so much as fucking apologise. When they made the billionaire so desperate that he had to beg for help from two strangers – one of which was a _child_. A smart and powerful child but a child, nonetheless.

At least, that’s what Tony had thought.

But all that changed when the blatant, five-word lie left Steve Roger’s mouth.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers.” Tony2 hissed while shaking hologram Steve slightly. Tony2’s eyes were wide and blood-shot, and its voice was hoarse with grief and betrayal unlike any Stark had known before. “Did you know?”

One second passed in silence. Then another. Then another. Then _another_. Then; “Yes.”

The atmosphere in the room had never been tenser. The silence had never been thicker. All eyes had left the hologram to stare at either Tony or Steve, except theirs’. Both of their heads were hung, but while Steve’s was hung in shame and embarrassment, Tony’s was hung in pain and grief. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears that had pooled in the billionaire’s eyes.

It's almost silly how a single word can cause so many emotions to flood someone’s senses.

How a single word, although seemingly innocent and plain out of context, can cause a person’s whole world to come crashing down. Everything they thought they’d know – everyone they thought they could trust – all facts that now must be questioned. All hopes and beliefs that had acted as one’s life support now were worth nothing more than the lies parents tell their kids about monsters to get them to behave.

Because if this guy that he’d trusted with his fucking life had lied, for the majority of the years they’d known each other about something so important, then what else had they lied about? What other truths had been hidden from him because he was fucking ignorant enough to _trust_ someone!

And when someone destroys everything you thought you’d known with a protectiveness in his voice for _someone else’s_ well-being, anger tends to be the dominant emotion. The only one worth acting accordingly to.

So when Tony2 released its grip on hologram Steve’s clothes and pushed itself back with an expression of such hurt on its face, the nod was not expected to be all the projection would do. Even when Tony2 turned away to face the computer, the uneven rise and fall of its head for the following few seconds wasn’t enough to persuade anyone in the room that that reaction would be the only one. Even Peter’s hints towards a fight amongst the trio weren’t necessary for the assumption of a fight to occur amongst the group.

Since everyone’s gaze had shifted back to the holograms with a weariness that reflected their inner alertness, no one missed the way that right after Tony2 muttered a quiet; “Okay…”, the Iron Man helmet quickly covered its head as it raised a metal-encased fist. A fist which rapidly collided with hologram Steve’s face. The sound of Iron Man’s repulsor powering up filled the creepily quiet space, and despite the aggression having been expected, the way Captain America rolled across the floor with a grunt was still unnerving.

_There are five stages of grief._ The voice repeated. _And the second is anger. _

\---

“Get out of here!”

\---

“It wasn’t him, Tony. HYDRA had control of his mind!”

“Move!”

“It wasn’t him!”

\---

“Left boot-jet failing. Flight systems compromised.”

“Ah, crap.”

\---

“He’s not gonna’ stop. Go.”

\---

“Come on, come on.”

“Target systems knackered, Boss.”

“I’m eyeballing it.”

\---

“Do you even remember them?”

“I remember all of them.”

\---

“This isn’t going to change what happened.”

“I don’t care. He killed my mum.”

\---

“You can’t beat him hand to hand!”

“Analyse his fight pattern.”

“Scanning… Countermeasures ready.”

“Let’s kick his ass.”

\---

It was strange.

Tony won’t go into detail – he doesn’t think he could do so anyway without breaking down and crying for the next few days. And he might have watched the holograms battle exactly like he had but it was like his brain wasn’t processing the information. He was _seeing_ it. He knew he was. But what it was that he was seeing, in particular, wasn’t registering properly.

All that his mind could process was feelings.

He could feel the way his arm had ached and burned after it had broken when that ceiling had collapsed. He could feel the way his neck had been bent all the wrong ways when Steve had pulled him down by his head while Tony had been mid-flight. He could feel the blood as it had dried and stuck to his skin in dark, ugly clumps.

He’d exerted himself an unhealthy amount during that fight. He’d pulled on broken bones until they were so broken he couldn’t move them at all without losing consciousness. He’d felt himself _choking_ on his own blood and panicking when he couldn’t _breathe_.

But – by far – what hurt the most was feeling that betrayal and pure rage resurface. Because those injuries – those life-threatening injuries – were given to him by one of the people he had trusted the most. By someone he had so foolishly considered family for years and that he still missed and loved like a brother and the self-loathing that came with feeling so dependent on others and being so pathetic.

Then there were the times when he would feel numb. Completely and utterly numb. His expression would become blank with matching wide eyes and sealed lips – no indication whatsoever that he felt anything at all. And maybe he wasn’t. Those moments were as frightening as they were relieving. On one hand, his emotions were so overly negative that it caused the inventor pain, but when those were gone? Then he’d feel hollow and empty and _numb_ and he hated that he didn’t know how long it would last.

Those emotions and that pain weren’t current though. He’d forgiven Steve because all that the soldier was doing was protecting his HYDRA friend from Tony’s wrath. And those injuries that he felt weren’t real either. They were simply phantom pains – ghosts of the actual agony that the Siberia fight had left Stark in for the following three months (that many broken bones and that much internal bleeding take their time to heal after having to stick a machine in someone to keep their heart beating).

\---

The humanoid projections would constantly split up after small one-on-one fights or full-on battles amongst the trio. Sometimes the camera would follow Tony2 as it flew, FRIDAY’s voice audible to the group every now and then. Other times it would trail after hologram Steve because the material room wasn’t big enough to show everything all at once.

FRIDAY’s interruptions, in particular, were almost random. Tony was certain that he’d spoken to his AI more times than was made audible to those present now, and although past Steve and Bucky were aware of none of those conversations they still happened. It was a weird combination of sounds and voices but that only seemed to make the recorded events more accurate and believable.

_Damn Peter. Why did Spider-Man have to be so smart? And why in the world was I the one cursed with having to witness the wrath of two, young geniuses? After this, I need to have a serious talk with T’Challa about keeping updated on his sister’s friendship circle. _

The audience’s reactions were overly exaggerated in Tony’s opinion. Swear words would be muttered under people’s breathes after particularly gruesome or worrisome attacks, and they would wince or grimace as if they were in actual physical pain. When Tony himself was fighting his friend, the billionaire hadn’t voiced his discomfort as much as the rest of the Avengers (minus Thor and Banner) plus extras were doing right now. Except for Natasha who looked perfectly indifferent and Stark himself who would only cringe or flinch occasionally.

Anyway, they didn’t have to act.

It was an unnecessary waste of breath. Sure those things happened and sure, Tony does need a machine in his chest to keep him alive and to prevent any fatal heart attacks because of all the injuries and stress which came with the trauma, but he was fine. Obviously.

But now that he was watching this fight rather than participating in it and feeling the way he stiffened every time Rogers so much as glances his way, Tony is starting to think that he’s wrong. Because if he was fine he wouldn’t be crying silent tears as hologram Steve throws yet another punch in Iron Man’s direction. He wouldn’t be forcing away panic and anxiety attacks every time he sees that fucking shield or that fucking Captain America costume or Bucky’s metal arm that tried to pull an arc reactor out of his chest once.

Maybe he wasn’t fine.

Maybe hating his own existence _wasn’t_ normal.

Was it?

\---

Iron Man had just blasted hologram Steve in the chest (with the power at less than 50% because Tony hadn’t actually been going for the kill). Naturally, Roger’s copy doubled over, falling to the cold, concrete ground in the process. Captain America was kneeling now, hands on the ground as it attempted to catch its breath.

Tony2 took a step forward in the dirty, red and gold suit. Its posture was perfect, and its head was tilted downwards slightly in order to view its opponent properly. After a second or so hologram Steve looked up, and despite the blood on its face being coloured blue due to it not being a physical being, the drying liquid remained painfully clear.

It took a few more, deep breathe before fake Rogers spoke. “He’s my friend.”

It was a truthfully weak attempt at defending its previous actions and everyone was aware of that fact. “So was I.” Tony2 replied, the Iron Man helmet warping the sound into something robotic, yet somehow the hollowness and anger that coated the words remained.

And so the fight continued.

Not a moment after Tony2 spoke it changed its stance. Its elbows bent and its right arm was thrown forwards in the form of a punch that connected with hologram Steve’s face almost immediately. Holo-Cap’s body lent sideways due to the mere force of the attack and before the ‘American Idol’s fake had a chance to react, Tony2’s other arm repeated the action. Once again, hologram Steve was on its knees, but with its side facing Tony2 rather than its front.

As fake Rogers coughed, Iron Man grabbed it by the back of its shirt and threw past Steve into a sloped, concrete pillar. Rogers’ back was the first to make contact with the structure and due to the speed of the throw, the humanoid projection bounced off and hit an identical pillar to its left. Fake Rogers now lay in a thin, sheet of snow between the two columns, tired and worn and on the losing side.

“Stay down.” Tony2 commanded and, back then, Stark had truly hoped Steve would. “Final warning.” Fighting one’s best friend was not enjoyable in any way and the billionaire had just wanted to be done. For it to be over so that he could have left that wretched place and never look back.

The inventor had already punished the pair enough. What was the point of dragging that torturous battle on?

But Steve – stubborn fucking Steve – had stood up then, so his hologram stood up now. Shaking and unsteady on its feet but it stood nonetheless and raised its fists into a defensive stance. It took the guy a while, during which Iron Man had simply watched in silence.

“I could do this all day.” Steve had claimed. It was almost disheartening to hear Rogers’ completely blue copy repeat that declaration with just as much determination in its tone.

Iron Man raised a hand, palm outstretched and repulser lighting up white as the energy built up for a final blast. It would only knock fake Steve unconscious. Nothing more. But then Bucky2 was awake, grabbing at Tony2’s leg.

It was enough of a distraction for Iron Man to take its eyes off hologram Steve – something which Tony will always be regretful for. Stark2 turned, kicking the now one-armed offender harshly in the face with a metal-encased foot. The sound which echoed around the space was loud and caused the previous, HYDRA assassin in question to flinch as the disturbingly familiar sensation probably shook his very core.

While Tony2 was still distracted, hologram Steve ran forward – fully intending to take advantage of the opportunity it had just been gifted. It picked Iron Man up, holding the suit and the inventor inside high above Cap’s head. Tony remembered how during that moment he’d blanked and run on instincts alone. The inventor blamed it on the adrenaline rush that had been finally leaving his system, but Stark can’t guarantee that that statement is accurate.

The suit’s soles lit up as the jets within the shoes turned on. Stark had only had one thought in his mind during that moment and that was; _escape_. Unfortunately, similar to what the cursed holograms re-enacted; the billionaire had failed. It was now Tony2’s turn to be thrown onto the ground and that’s exactly what happened. Even now Tony can recall the exact sound that he had heard the moment his body collided with the floor and that sound was;_ ‘crack’_. Back then the engineer could only hope it was the suit making that noise, and it would only be weeks later after waking up and begging Pepper continuously to show him the doctor’s diagnosis that he would learn it was the sound of his skull fracturing upon impact.

_Thanks for that, Rogers. _

Now, hologram Steve was the one throwing punches at Tony2’s head. After about three direct hits to its opponent’s helmet, fake Rogers grabbed its nearby shield which it had dropped a while ago. Holo-Cap lifted the weapon above its head before slamming it down onto Iron Man’s face. At first, the attack seemed ineffective. So, naturally, hologram Steve repeated it.

And all the Avengers (minus Thor and Banner who were who knows where) plus extras got front row seats to watch.

So they did.

They watched as the Iron Man helmet was thrown off Tony2’s face to reveal an absolutely terrified expression and blood. A lot of it. They watched as hologram Steve’s expression only became more determined and angry. They watched as he lifted the circular shield above its head again. They watched as Tony2 covered its face with its arms protectively.

And that’s when they started shouting.

“Stop! –“

“Don’t! –“

“No! –“

“Wait! –“

“Tony! –“

And that surprised him.

So far everyone had been surprisingly quiet. But now – _now_ that hologram Steve was raising its iconic shield above Tony2’s head as if aiming for the throat they were suddenly screaming at the top of their lungs. Even Natasha let out a strangled gasp as if she had been trying to hide her concern, but the sound made its way out of her throat anyway. T’Challa had a similar reaction in comparison to Nat and the only ones quiet were Vision, Steve and Bucky. Even Tony himself had let out something halfway between a choked sob and a pained, sharp inhale.

And here’s the thing; Steve never aimed for Stark’s throat because if the soldier had than Tony wouldn’t be here right now, and some small, rational part of everyone’s brain was aware of that fact. And even if Roger’s _had_ gone for the kill and this hologram presentation was one of how the billionaire died then that small, rational part of everyone’s brain would know that yelling at a projection would do nothing to change that.

So why, then, were they shouting like lunatics?

Maybe they were caught in what they were watching, and amidst their panic of seeing one teammate seemingly about to kill another, they had done the only reasonable thing they thought they could. But Tony wanted to think that they were worried about the inventor and about what was seemingly about to happen to him in particular. That they actually cared about Stark.

_But they don’t._ Something dangerous whispered to Tony. _Because if they did then Germany wouldn’t have happened. _

Hologram Steve let out a yell and the shield came down fast in a blur of blues, smashing forcefully into…

Tony2’s arc reactor.

There were breathes of relief echoing from any and every corner of the room. The light coming from the damaged power source shone brightly, and Tony2’s own breathe of what was meant to be relief sounded more like a gasp._ Is it wrong that I kinda’ wish Rogers had gone for the throat? If he had then I wouldn’t have had to suffer through – no, Stark. Don’t throw yourself a pity party now. Get it together. _

Hologram Steve leaned on the shield that still stuck out of Tony2’s chest for a good, few seconds while catching its breath. And Tony2, well, it just looked at its victorious opponent with a scared and hesitant expression, afraid that fake Rogers would continue to dig that Vibranium circle deeper until it crushed Tony2’s heart (he didn’t but maybe he should’ve).

Then fake Steve practically collapsed off of Iron Man, leaving its fucking shield to stick out of the suit awkwardly. Then there were those next moments where Tony had realised he wasn’t going to die. That his former brother wasn’t going to finish him off and the following relief and disappointment crashed into the inventor all at once.

Eventually, hologram Steve stood up, forcing its shield out of Iron Man’s chest and re-attaching it to its arm. As holo-Cap slowly walked towards Bucky2, Tony2 twisted onto its side, some of the shattered, arc reactor remains falling off the destroyed suit and onto the concrete. Fake Rogers lifted its barely conscious, World War II companion off the ground, placing Bucky2’s arm around its shoulders in order to support the injured assassin.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you.” Tony2 suddenly exclaimed. It was leaning on its bent, left arm due to being in too much pain to so much as attempt a standing position.

Hologram Steve only continued to turn away now that the majority of Bucky2’s weight was being supported by the soldier. The duo had hardly taken another step forward and away from the dying Tony2 before Iron Man spoke again.

“You don’t deserve it.” It claimed. That caused fake Rogers to pause momentarily. “My father made that shield!”

_There are five stages of grief._ Came the voice again, its tone leaving no room for argument._ And the third is bargaining. _

Hologram Steve remained silent and still as if in thought. Then it simply nodded and tossed the scratched shield onto the ground. The sound of Vibranium hitting pavement made Tony’s ears ring and his body shake. But only for a moment.

Stark was used to playing pretend. What was the _use_ of stopping now?

So hologram Steve walked away with Bucky2, a stupidly proud and victorious smirk tugging at its lips. And Tony2 stayed where it was, too weak to follow and the suit too damaged to repair or to use. Tony2 simply spit out some blood which had started to pool in its mouth before shifting into a forced sitting position, knees bent, and legs squashed beneath the rest of its body. The only indication that that movement caused the humanoid projection any pain was the hesitation and the pained hiss that forced its way out through gritted teeth.

Then, surprisingly, the holograms gained colour. It was slow and the fade was gradual, but it was there and soon the red and gold of the destroyed Iron Man suit glared back at the group. The grime and dirt coating the metal was painfully obvious, as was the rainbow of blues and purples that coloured any and all of Tony2’s exposed skin (despite there being very little of that).

Five seconds passed and Iron Man had remained still and immobile. Ten seconds passed and Iron Man still hadn’t moved. Twenty seconds passed and Iron Man was still silent and in the same position as fifteen seconds ago.

At the twenty-two second mark, it happened.

Tony2 fell backwards into the snow between the two pillars where fake Rogers had just stood not minutes before. Its legs were out in front of it, bent partially at the knees and not quite touching the ground. One arm was rested on its chest, the other squashed between the column and itself, with a few fingers clutching tightly to the armour around its hip.

The quiet lasted for another, full three seconds. Then it began. It started out at an almost silent volume, the wetness in Tony2’s eyes being the only currently visible indication that it was crying – or at least close to it. As the moments passed the sounds became louder and the tears started rolling down its cheeks in steady streams.

Then he – it –_ I?_ – was full-on sobbing.

\---

_Russia, Siberia, HYDRA facility. _

_May 6, 2016 _

-

_They left. They actually left. _

Tony didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh. Steve Rogers had had Stark’s back for years now, but the moment the super-soldier’s, World War II, previous HYDRA weapon friend was found the ‘American Idol’ had abandoned that trust and brotherly love in order to gift it to Bucky. It was almost funny how quickly Rogers chose – how _easy_ the decision seemed for him.

Stark would applaud him if the inventor wasn’t 93% sure that his arm was broken. And a few fingers. And his collar bone. And his ribs. And pretty much every other bone in his body besides his spine. The billionaire had to give it to the guy; Steve had managed to not only trick Tony into believing Rogers trusted him, but also managed to get Tony to trust Steve…with his life.

He sees now that that was a mistake, despite how little value Stark’s life held in the mechanic’s perspective.

_I should be used to this by now._ Tony mentally scolded. _Betrayal is practically my life in a nutshell._ Stark couldn’t help but stiffen as the thought occurred to him. _But…_ Something kind and caring supplied, _that shouldn’t make it any easier._ Tony didn’t think he would be able to actually recognise anything with a kind or caring nature but somehow he did. Somehow he had.

And the fact that those emotions felt so foreign made him realise just how broken he really was.

Suddenly everything seemed as though it was spinning, and Stark could practically feel the nausea as it caused his stomach to do all sorts of impossible flips. He needed to lie down – he needed to lie down immediately, or he was going to throw up what little breakfast he had that morning. Or was it yesterday morning? He couldn’t remember.

His legs felt as though they’d lost their solid form, melting into puddles within his broken suit. Tony practically collapsed backwards into the snow, shivering as the coldness in the air seemed to intensify. Snow seeped into his exposed hair, the ice sticking in clumps and giving it white highlights.

Stark’s entire body seemed to scream in agony due to the unexpected movement, fractured bones protesting loudly with fiery-hot flares of pain. At that Tony had to restrict not only a flinch but a scream as well. He and pain were no strangers, but this kind of pain was different and reminded the billionaire vividly of Afghanistan. But he doesn’t think about Afghanistan. It’s bad for his mental health.

_He’s not coming back. _

Tears welled up in Tony’s eyes without his approval. _Steve actually left._ Now that the thought was back in his mind he could not – no matter what he did – get rid of it. It blossomed and clouded his conscious and was quickly followed by a; _I’m all alone now. _

Pepper had broken up with him. Rhodey was paralysed from the waist down. The other Avengers were being kept prisoner on the RAFT and even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore. And Steve had _left_. With _Bucky_. But not before almost killing Tony only to leave him for dead immediately after.

_I’m all alone._

\---

_There are five stages of grief._ Whispered the voice menacingly. _And the fourth is depression. _

\---

A sob tore its way out of Tony’s throat. The sound was hoarse and strained but it was there. The tears that had pooled in his ghostly brown eyes fell, rolling down his blood-covered cheeks like waterfalls. And once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

His whole body shook as he cried, tears freezing to his face uncomfortably. Each sob that left Stark’s lips was louder than the last and jostled his injured ribs painfully. He tried to lift a hand to wipe away any evidence of his misery, but it hurt too much to move even slightly. And even if he’d managed to the metal of the Iron Man suit would scratch at his face rather than dry it.

He wanted to be rid of that fucking metal suit.

He wanted to burn and destroy that broken machine, but he couldn’t. Because the moment he took that fucking suit off his body temperature would drop and he’d die. Human bodies weren’t meant to last in such cold environments for long periods of time especially with little protection and shelter. That suit was keeping him alive despite it being ruined beyond repair.

_What if I don’t want to be alive? _

Tony shivered at the reality that single question held. The truth that resided within each and every word. Nobody was coming for him because there was no-one left to do so. Nobody was going to miss him when he died because there was no-one left that cared.

So apparently it was a good thing that Tony couldn’t remove this red and gold, nitinol armour from his body if he tried. Despite how it was constructed light enough to keep the average, adult male airborne Stark couldn’t think of a time where anything had ever felt heavier. A time where this suit – this suit that was meant to _protect_ him – had ever felt so constricting and tight, like an almost indestructible coffin which was locked securely over the inventor’s dying form.

_Dying form. I’m dying. I – I – I’m dying… _

It was what he wanted, right? He wanted to die because there was nothing left to live for. No Natasha, no Sam, no Clint, no Wanda, no Steve to go back home to. No family to love. Family. No, they weren’t family they were friends. Even back then their trust had been fragile and their like for one another limited. Some of them could hardly tolerate a fellow Avenger (himself and Wanda coming to mind in particular). Not to mention that some Avengers were completely MIA like Bruce and Thor.

_I’m going to die. I’m going to die here, alone, in an abandoned HYDRA facility and it’s going to be because of the injuries Steve gave me. I’m going to die alone and no-one’s going to care. _

\---

“This continued for the following eighteen hours. Mr Stark passed out shortly after his constant crying resulted in a tear in the tear duct and a blood clot, which, combined with his various head injuries, caused blood to accompany his tears. The ‘blood crying’, as Peter referred to it, remained for the following hour and a half.” Karen informed, speaking for the first time in a while. “He remained unconscious for the following twenty-three hours. It is a miracle he woke up at all.”

\---

Stark didn’t remember losing consciousness nor did he remember waking up, yet somehow, he knew he had.

Tony released a sound similar to a whimper, the action causing his now dry throat to throb and groan in pain. The billionaire had long ago stopped shaking due to the cold, a fact which should be extremely worrying. But Tony wasn’t aware enough to realise nor in the right mental state to care.

“Hey, Fri? How long do you think it’d take for me to die?” The inventor questioned, his voice soft and allowing his fragile mental state to become audible. “Do you think there ‘re any cameras around here? You’re broken s’ you can’t record a mess’ge for me. But d’ you think there’re any camer’s around that w’d hear me?”

That time his speech was more slurred. Stark particularly struggled to pronounce vowels correctly or at all. His vision was darkening, and he felt disoriented, but he ignored all those symptoms of hypothermia in favour of talking to his absent AI.

“I’ll t’ke that as a y’s. M‘kay. Hey there c’m’ra.” Tony hadn’t moved. He’d been staring at the concrete ceiling for however long, a cloudy sky visible from the corner of his eye. “T’ll Pepper ‘m sorry for dy’ng. A – and, i – if you ev’r see Cap t’ll him I’m s’rry too. I didn’t m’n to hurt him. I w’s mad a – and being a b’d friend.”

Stark knew he had to apologise before he died. He had to let those he’d hurt know that he was sorry. He missed his friends. He missed his dysfunctional family – _group of friends_. He missed _Steve_. And he missed thinking that someone – _anyone_ – cared about him.

“And ‘m sorr’ about Buck’s ‘rm. W’sn’t p – planning t’ blast ‘t off. B’t h’ was pulling out my ‘rc react’r. Obadiah d’d that t’ me once, b’ck when I st’ll n – needed ‘t to surv’ve a – and I just panick’d. T’ll the other Avengers th – th’t ‘m sorr’ too. I didn’t w’nt to fight. Didn’t w’nt t’ lose nobod’. Guess th’t backfir’d, huh. I w’s scared a – and they w’re thr’tning to k’ll y’all ‘f I didn’t c’tch you f’rst.”

Tony had no tears left to cry. He was dangerously dehydrated, and it was becoming hard to breathe. Was that normal? It had to be if it was happening to him. Nothing weird happens to…to…who was he? He felt drunk and light-headed and was he supposed to not be breathing?

“T – tell P’ter th’t I’m sorr’ f’r d’ing, too. I know h’ l’ks ‘p to me. H’ shouldn’t though. ‘m a t’rrible r’le mod’l. Alw’ys dying ‘n sh’t. S’pris’d you guys w’ited th – th’s l’ng t’ leave m’. T’ll P’ter he’s too pure f – for h’s own good. T’ preci’s. M’ke s’re h’ kn – knows th’t he’s gonna’ b’ b’tter th – th’n all ‘f us. Stup’d k’d gettin’ m’ wrapp’d ‘round h’s fing’r. I h’rdl’ ev’n know h’m ‘nd he’s ‘lread’ gotten’ me to w’rry ‘bout h’m. Fuck h’m.” He stuttered.

Something was in his mouth. It tasted metallic and was climbing up his throat rapidly. It pooled on and around his tongue to the point it coated every tooth and crevice. He choked on the mysterious liquid, wincing as his throat protested angrily. The billionaire tried to spit it out. Tried to rid himself of that fucking – _blood_. Something sad and hollow provided. _That’s blood. _

Tony’s body jerked and twisted as he tried and failed to inhale. He felt the panic set in, the fear awakening enough for the inventor to ground himself momentarily._ It’s okay._ Tony mentally assured himself. _It’s okay. You apologised. You can go now. It’s okay. It’s okay. _

\---

_There are five stages of grief, and the last is acceptance. _

\---

So, he let his vision darken. He let the black spots grow and widen until they hid every sliver of light there was to see. He let his tense body relax as the warmth of unconsciousness replaced the cold of reality.

And, if he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d seen a frantic Peter rush towards him with the use of the kid’s unnatural speed. If Stark didn’t know better, he would have thought that that welcoming heat had come from the shaking fingers a certain Spider-Kid pressed to his face. If Tony didn’t know better – if Tony hadn’t lost hope and accepted these circumstances a long time ago – he would have possibly considered that the concerned voice he’d heard scream was not a figment of his imagination.

“Mr Stark!”

\---

Tony watched as the humanoid projection’s body spasmed viscously.

If anyone wasn’t in tears before when they heard Tony2’s slurred apology they surely were now. The abnormal twitches of Iron Man’s limbs were unnerving to witness alone, but with the added broken suit of armour that was now destroyed and horribly disfigured, red paint indistinguishable from crimson blood, the group couldn’t help but feel sick to their stomach.

But there were also other gruesome details Stark hadn’t been unaware of at the time. Like the fact that his skin had turned a concerning shade of blue, a feature which was accompanied by chattering teeth. Then there was the blood. All of the blood. It leaked from within the cracks of the suit, sliding down the sides of the armour and colouring the snow. It even leaked onto the nearby, ice-free concrete floor, permanently staining the pavement in the ugly hue.

And the blood on Tony2’s _face_.

It tangled into its brown hair, which explained the unexpected haircut Stark remembered being told he’d received while he was in a coma state for those first few days (they didn’t cut all of it off, but it was still significantly shorter and the billionaire partially wished he hadn’t known the cause of that particular action). The maroon liquid leaked from Tony2’s eyes, painting its sclera an unnatural red that reminded the inventor of a character from a horror movie he watched a while back.

And now, as Tony2 shook violently, the snapping of fractured bones echoing around the room, even more, blood was added to the mess of red. It pooled in its mouth until the dark liquid hid its tongue and teeth before it proceeded to overflow. The blood trailed down the hologram’s face from the corners of its lips until it joined the practical lake of similar liquid on the ground.

Now, Stark was no longer watching due to being too scared to look away, but because of curiosity. The billionaire couldn’t remember anything that occurred following the choking on blood…thing and seizing as he rapidly approached his end. Well, he could remember something, but it had to have been a hallucination.

Right?

He ignored the rational part of his brain that reminded him that Peter himself had stated otherwise. That Peter, the kid that hardly lies because he’s so bad at it, had been the one to find Tony on the brink of death in Siberia. Because that little – yet very important – piece of information could have only been included to make Cap feel guiltier than he already did…right? _Please tell me I’m right. _

Then Tony noticed it.

The hologram looked exactly like the kid, and the improved colour palette only added to the realism. It was three-dimensional, just like the other projections. Its messy, brown hair bounced vigorously on it its head as Peter2 raced towards Tony2. It screamed out in panic the moment it caught sight of the state Iron Man was in.

“Mr Stark!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...
> 
> Next chapter:).
> 
> Okay. Hope ya'll liked that and that it reached your expectations. If not... I'm only thirteen, so don't expect award-worthy novels or something. It's the best I could do... I think. I would still love to read your comments and see what you thought and what you'd like to see. Or read. 
> 
> Finally, I want to warn you. I currently have another Avengers story in the making called 'The Avengers' Kid' that I hope to continue and possibly turn into a series. So I'll be working on that, and since these chapters take a long time to write, you might not get a new one for a few months. So I'm sorry about that. 
> 
> What I can promise though is that you will get another chapter someday. I have no plans to stop working on this story because I really like how it's going so far. Thanks for waiting.


	3. Lost And Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Peter found Tony. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here it is! Chapter 3! 
> 
> Damn this took a long time. Did you know I posted Chapter 2 on, like, November 4th, 2019?..... I think...
> 
> That's so long ago. The holidays have come and gone. It's 2020 now! There's this thing called the coronavirus (COVID-19 or whatever else it is you want to call it) going around killing people... a lot has changed since I've last updated. 
> 
> See the end of chapter notes for an apology concerning the late update!! Now read and, hopefully, enjoy!

_ May 7th, 2016  
  
Forrest Hills, Queens, New York_  
  
\---  
  
Peter emitted a sound somewhere between an annoyed groan and an angered yell as he slammed his hands against the keyboard in frustration. He had been spending the past two hours since he had arrived home from Germany on his old, somewhat perfectly functioning, desktop computer hacking into the RAFT, a prison made to hold the strongest people out there within its walls. Perfect to imprison the captured Rogue Avengers until their punishments were to be officially decided by the court.  
  
During his time in Western Grand Berlin Hotel, Germany, Peter had overheard Mr Happy (more like eavesdropped on the man's conversation, but the details are unimportant) discussing a certain billionaire's whereabouts on the phone to who Peter presumed to be Secretary Ross. Or, more specifically, how the location of the hero was currently unknown.  
  
\---  
  
_May 6th, 2016  
  
The Western Grand Berlin Hotel, Germany  
_  
-  
  
Peter groaned into the silk, pearly-white pillows that covered his temporary bed. Two days had passed since the fight at the airport and Peter was positively bored. Mr Stark had come in once to check on the kid, but that was ages ago.   
  
The conversation mainly consisted of Peter rambling nervously and the billionaire playing on his phone in the doorway entrance, anyway. Now that he thinks about it, it was hardly a conversation at all. Mr Stark had left without so much as a glance in the teenager's direction, and the only words Peter's idol had spoken was a nonchalant; 'How you holding up, kid?'; and a bored; 'That's nice, but I'll be going now. Superhero things to do and all that'.   
  
If it were anyone else, Peter would have been at least a little offended by the disrespectful and dismissive behaviour, but it _wasn't_ anyone else. It was _the_ Tony _freakin'_ Stark! Most people Peter's age don't even get to see him in person unless he's saving New York in his Iron Man suit, so that little acknowledgement Spider-Man had received was practically a dream come true!  
  
Now if only he could tell people about it.   
  
His vigilante alter-ego was a secret, therefore so were the activities Spider-Man experienced and the places he'd been, as long as the information wasn't already public. It was all a secret from everyone but himself, Mr Happy (although he didn't like being called that, but, then again, Mr Happy didn't like a lot of things), Mr Stark and Colonel Rhodes. Well, the last one Peter wasn't certain about, but he had heard the billionaire’s friend asking about Spidey's identity over a private comm line when Peter first made himself known prior to the fight. _Super-hearing can be so useful sometimes._ The teenager was pretty sure Mr Stark ignored the query anyway, but who knows, maybe Colonel Rhodes had received an answer sometime after.   
  
But back to the point.   
  
Peter was bored.   
  
So extremely so that even taking apart and reassembling the awesome, technological devices in this room (such as that Stark TV over there) wasn't enough to please him. Anymore. Mr Happy had moved himself and Peter to two, new, separate rooms with soundproofed walls about three hours ago, and although Peter's enhanced senses were advanced enough to still hear clearly through them, the same couldn't be said about the chauffeur/bodyguard's. After he told the man an unnecessarily long and overly detailed recount of the battle which Peter had participated in during the drive here, as well as loudly repeated it for his video while they were in their previous rooms, Mr Happy had done everything in his power to avoid having to hear it again. Hence the avoidance. And the room change. And, well, although that did hurt a little, Peter got over it quickly. He was used to being constantly ignored by his peers in school unless they were picking on him, so this wasn't much different.  
  
Yeah. _Sure_.   
  
Just as he thought he was bordering on the edge of insanity a voice, sharp and serious snapped him out of his trance. “- o you mean ‘he’s gone’? People don’t just disappear, especially not Tony _fucking_ Stark!”  
  
Mr Happy.  
  
The familiarity of the sound forced the kid to concentrate in order to catch every word. Sure, his hearing was phenomenal and far more enhanced than any normal human’s, but, usually, it was as much of a disadvantage as a benefit. Every moment of the day, Peter’s senses forced him to hear a whole bunch of things he probably would have rather not, like those two women three blocks away as they very clearly argued over whether one slept with the other’s boyfriend recently or not. It made it unnecessarily difficult to focus on a single conversation at once, and the fact that the loudly beating hearts of everyone within a mile radius of him echoed in his head at the same time was of no assistance whatsoever.  
  
Anyway, back to the issue. With a worried and cautious curiosity, Peter listened as Mr Happy shouted in a panicked voice at the person on the phone with him. Every word Peter remembered perfectly and stored in his mind for future reference, which his hyperthymesia actually helped a lot with. But some particular comments uttered by Secretary Ross terrified Peter into action significantly more than others.

"~If Stark does not inform someone who either, wrote, signed or has some sort of significant importance on a global or national scale which is in allegiance with the accords within the following four days, - ~", the man on the other side of the line spoke confidently, "~ - we will have no choice but to consider that act as a violation of the accords, and Stark will be convicted until further notice.~"   
  
"You better not be saying what I think you're saying, Ross." Mr Happy bit back angrily.   
  
"~He shall remain prisoner on the RAFT along with the other currently imprisoned Avengers for a probable minimum of fifty days. There is a possibility, though, that he will remain there permanently if a compromise cannot be reached among those running the accords.~" With that Secretary Ross hung up, ending the call before Mr Happy had a chance to argue.   
  
The following slew of curse words that flooded Peter's thoughts after that final sentence was spoken were enough to make even a sailor cringe.   
  
-  
  
On May 6th, at 04:38 pm, Tony Stark left the RAFT after arriving unannounced at approximately 03:52 pm. Following the mechanic's departure, his empty jet was located to be flying over a secluded and random part of the Kara Sea, so far high up that one would need to reach altitudes only Stark planes have the ability to climb up to. Inside was a handful of empty seats, the jet on apparent autopilot, with Mr Stark nowhere to be seen, and the Iron Man suit packed within the airborne vehicle similarly absent. Both were gone, vanished to an unknown location for an unidentified amount of time. 

\---  
  
That was over a day ago now, and still no further information concerning Peter's idol was found. No way to communicate with the man or even attempt to track him down. He knows this because he managed to hack into Mr Happy’s phone, allowing the boy access to his chauffer’s emails, phone calls, messages, etc., and since Mr Happy had the ability to contact a whole lot of important people, Peter successfully used that to his advantage. During the flight back to New York alone, Peter used his own, out-of-date mobile to, albeit without permission, sneak into all of Secretary Ross’ private, digital information, something which could be said about multiple other, important people.

  
To say the least, this teenage vigilante was beyond concerned for Mr Stark. The man could be anywhere right now doing anything like being murdered _or lying dead at the bottom of the ocean, or in a life-threatening situation or_ \- Peter cut his thought trail off suddenly. He didn't have time to stress over this. Every moment wasted not tracking down Mr Stark's location was a moment in which anything could happen to him. The more time passed, the bigger the risk. 

Which is why Peter had, upon arriving at his apartment and calling his aunt since she was still at work, rushed straight to his room, plopping himself down onto his old desk chair with an obvious disregard for the exhaustion that tugged at his mind. The multiple hour-long flight to New York was restless for Peter, along with the rest of his stay at the hotel following Mr Happy’s concerning conversation. Upon logging into his computer, the teenager had wasted not a second before beginning his journey through the RAFT’s surprisingly weak firewalls and low, digital defences.

So far, Mr Stark’s visit to the floating prison was the student’s only lead, and now, after far too much time spent hacking into the cameras in search for both visual and audible explanation concerning the billionaire’s earlier visit, Peter’s realised it to have been pointless. Seconds after Mr Stark reached the Falcon’s enclosure the cameras were disabled by the engineering genius through false information that they had simply ‘malfunctioned’ momentarily. _Right_. Because highly developed machinery always malfunctions like that, but the fact that the code was clearly manually tampered with was of no importance. _God, I’m laying the sarcasm on thick today. _

With quickly retreating hope, Peter watched through the cameras as past Mr Stark climbed back onto his form of transportation, effortlessly lying through his teeth about what had been discussed between Mr Wilson and himself. The teenager had to admit though, Mr Stark was a fantastic liar. The only thing that gave the man away was the dull grey that loomed in his dark brown eyes, a feature that contradicted his playful smirk unnaturally.

After Peter released his frustration through abusing his keyboard and an animalistic growl-like sound that forced its way out of his throat, he allowed a reluctant and defeated sigh to leave his trembling lips. He’d failed. Currently, he was no closer to locating the missing celebrity than he was two hours ago. _Useless. Why can’t I do anything right? I’ll never find him now. That was it. My only chance._

Much to the devasted teenager’s annoyance, tears had started to pool in his eyes, threatening to spill and stain his cheeks with far too noticeable, wet streaks. Angrily, Peter pushed the palm of his hands harshly into his now closed eyes as if in attempt to make the growing cold of self-hate and depression that continued to well up inside vanish. The attempt was futile, and only irritated his eyes as well as got his hands wet from the water that managed to escape his closed lids.

What else was there to do, though, besides wallow in his own self-pity? Mr Stark was gone, for who knows how long, in his _stupid_, flying suit of armour – Peter froze. The fingers that had been wiping at his eyes remained stock still in their position as his eyes grew wide in realisation. _I’m such an idiot_. The teenager mentally face-palmed.

_Of course! _Why hadn’t he thought of it before? With a renewed swell of confidence that warmed the cold he’d felt inside, Peter pressed his hands back down onto the beige computer keys and began furiously typing away. The rest of him had remained unmoving, with only a slightly straighter posture compared to what it had previously been contradicting his sudden, subconscious paralysis.

His fingers moved quickly, faster than they ever had before, to the point that they were simply blurs even he struggled to follow despite his fantastic sight. Doe brown eyes skimmed the dark screen of his computer as letters and numbers he hardly had time to read covered it, each one arranged in neat yet complicated horizontal lines. He saved the data he’d collected due to his successful hacking into the RAFT into a coded and digitally protected folder (just in case) before deleting the rest of the information he did not require.

It was of no use currently and simply did not matter at this moment in time. Peter was only really saving some of it in case he ever needed to expose Secretary Ross for his inhuman treatment of the ‘guilty’ Avengers - which he planned to do as soon as Mr Stark was found, be it by Peter, someone else or the billionaire simply returning on his own terms, which was a large possibility considered all the other, insane things the man had done in the past. But Peter couldn’t risk it, because there was a chance that the man wouldn’t, or, even worse, _couldn’t_ return on his own. And such a risk was not – and never _would_ be – worth taking. 

Peter’s plan was simple. The RAFT was easy enough to hack, although getting access into their servers would have been so much simpler if Ross hadn’t gone through the effort of encrypting the passwords, but whatever. The RAFT was barely a challenge, and Peter could always try getting into SHIELD (he’d done before so it shouldn’t be too difficult) but he didn’t see how that would help him any. The same could be said about the jet Mr Stark had been using prior to his unexpected disappearance.

Not the ‘he’d done it before’ part, but the part stating that it would be unnecessary. The jet’s cameras had been deactivated the moment the billionaire first stepped foot onboard before the trip to the floating prison ever occurred. Mr Stark had clearly been prepared, and an email to Mr Happy from one of Secretary Ross’ followers provided Peter with all the information he needed to figure that out.

So that ruled out what used to be Peter’s entire checklist of ‘Who And What to Hack to Find Mr Stark’. What Peter didn’t know was why he never considered hacking into the Iron Man suit or the billionaire’s AI that was connected to it. Maybe because of how unbelievably difficult it would be. SHIELD was one thing; Stark’s personal tech was another. There was an obvious increase in digital defence when it came to Mr Stark’s hand-made machinery, and as entertainingly challenging it was, Peter just didn’t have the privilege of enjoying himself.

Peter was stressed, worried, as well as beyond terrified. Terrified that he would fail. Terrified that he’d mess up and cause structural damage to the _extremely_ expensive and treasured suit. Terrified that he’d be too late to save a man he hardly knew yet had idolised for a long time. Terrified that he wouldn’t be good enough.

The whole situation was causing the teenager’s anxiety levels to spike until they were far more than simply uncomfortable. Mistakes weren’t an option, and they strictly could not be made. Because a life was in his hands. A very important life that many adore. A life that had risked his own countless times in order to fix the problems he’d caused, and to save those who could not save themselves. To protect a planet that had viewed him as nothing more than a douchebag billionaire that tore the world apart before putting it back together. The life of Anthony Edward Stark, previous weapons manufacturer and current, world-renowned superhero and Avenger.

Sure, that reaction may seem a bit exaggerated and over-the-top, but it was how Peter was feeling right then and there. How he viewed the situation. Those were his worries and fears that dominated every other thought that happened to momentarily cross his mind. This was something new, and unpredictable. Anything could happen, and one wrong move could make everything go wrong.

\---

Five hours passed. Peter was yet to so much as glance away from the screen or even momentarily pause the rapid typing his fingers were performing. It was a Tuesday, the teenager vaguely recalled, and May had the night shift. She shouldn’t be home until around five the following morning. That gave Peter a solid six and a half more hours to hack his way through powerful firewalls before he had to jump into bed in order to be ‘asleep’ by the time his aunt arrived and grounded the life out of him otherwise.

Peter had always been a light sleeper, and his enhanced senses did not help that fact any. On a regular day, the loud noises of New York would keep him awake for a while until the exhaustion the day’s events had placed upon him finally lulled him into unconsciousness. On a good day, the boy would be able to block out the sounds until they were limited to only slightly above an average, human level and sleep would come easily. Today, he’d probably get about one hour of rest – _if_ he was lucky. Not the worst he’d ever gotten.

Then again, him getting some sleep tonight largely depended on whether or not he found Mr Stark soon. If he didn’t then he just wouldn’t sleep. Yeah. Okay. That should be fine.

But the fact that school hadn’t been put on hold at all during Peter’s absence yesterday and today only served to further dampen his mood.

The missed work he’d be forced to complete tomorrow negatively impacted his optimistic mindset and acted as an unpleasant and looming thought. It wouldn’t be difficult – Peter had always considered high school easy. He was never one to brag, of course, but the work was never challenging. One thing it was, though, was plentiful.

Each of Peter’s eleven subjects and five clubs he was currently part of had the bothersome habit of providing students with a large abundance of work to complete within a short amount of time. Peter had never struggled to finish it all prior to the due date in the past, and he already knew that the questions would not be hard to correctly answer, they would just take multiple hours out of his day. Multiple hours which Peter could not afford to spare. Not to mention the actual classes he’d be forced to attend on Wednesday.

He might as well just kiss the entirety of tomorrow goodbye now.

As the realisation that time was more limited than he first assumed it would be dawned on him, Peter suppressed a flinch at his disorganisation. How could he be so stupid as to completely dismiss the disadvantages his mandatory attendance at school would cause him? Normally, Peter would place his aunt’s needs and wants above his own, including her desire for Peter to have the opportunity to experience all the things other people his age do.

Such as high school and the struggles of homework. She wants the best for him, and that Peter can understand. Not everyone was fortunate enough to have someone in their lives that cared for them so much, and Peter had made it his mission to never take that love for granted. He wanted to be the best nephew that he could be considering all the secrets and additional responsibilities he had to keep.

Peter would clean and cook without complaint. He only ate what he thought a normal teenager would – sometimes less – even though his metabolism required he tripled that amount because he knew they were tight on money and May wouldn’t be able to afford it. He always completed tasks related to his education on time, with full marks, because he knew it made Aunt May feel proud. He’d tell his aunt about his day (without including details such as Spider-Man) because he knew she liked to be involved in his life. It was his self-appointed job to remain as reasonably obedient as he could.

Skipping school in order to search for a missing billionaire didn’t fall under that category. It, unfortunately, contradicted it.

But something told Peter he’d have to.

Peter had only been Spider-Man for around a year (despite the ‘six-month’ lie he told Mr Stark) and over that time his powers had evolved. He learned to control his senses and how much stimulation they received at once, although doing so did make him feel rather drowsy for a while and sometimes he would simply lack the energy. His healing ability was the same. He could control the speed at which injuries would heal, although the speed would be limited by how much he’d eaten since his fast metabolism largely contributed to that particular power.

That one was very useful because normally, despite how little food he’d limit himself to, the healing was too fast and would cause more damage than good. Bones would heal in minutes before he had time to set them, and bruises would be gone practically before they appeared. Those attributes not only caused additional pain when he’d have to rebreak bones or cut his body open to pull out a bullet, but also aroused suspicion in his surprisingly violent bully. But now that Peter could control the time it would take for his body to heal from physical injuries with his mind and by pure will, it made him feel less rushed which also resulted in less painful mistakes being made.

He was faster. Sure, his reflexes and agility had been insanely quick before due to the bite, but they had changed. He could cross a room faster than the bare human eye could comprehend. It was like everything around him had simply stopped moving. It was crazy. Although, majority of the time, Peter forgot (well, not forgot really, as he physically can’t do that – more like was ignorant of his amazing ability) that he even had this power at his disposal.

His spidey sense, as Peter liked to call it, probably improved the most out of all his supernatural powers. It was now more specific about the danger headed Peter’s way. It wasn’t like a voice inside his head or anything – Peter just kind of _knew_ what the danger was now based on the feeling of his sixth sense. It’s hard to explain but it was there, and it gave Peter a security he didn’t realise he needed.

Then there was the fact that his sense would alert him when _others_ were in danger, not just himself. He’d have to obviously be thinking of the person beforehand, but people were constantly on his mind anyway. When Spider-Man was fighting, he’d be thinking about the bad guy and the victim at the same time – it couldn’t be helped. It was just as descriptive for others as it was for himself too, so that was great.

What was extremely worrisome, though, was the almost painful buzz of his spidey-sense on the back of his neck whenever Mr Stark crossed his mind. The feeling was aggressive and seemed to increase in strength every passing hour. Unlike its behaviour the past few months, Peter’s spidey sense was, surprisingly enough, lacking in detail.

All Peter knew was that it was relaying a single worded message that repeated constantly; _‘Death’_.

_I’ll skip school tomorrow._ Peter decided eventually. _I’ll skip school tomorrow and find Mr Stark. _

_I need to find Mr Stark. _

\---

Peter knew May had finished work by now and was probably already heading home, but he couldn’t find it in himself to react appropriately. His aunt worked rather close to their apartment, and the drive to and from was only half an hour long. It’d be much shorter were it not for the bothersome New York traffic, and since nobody in this city seemed to sleep, returning home took just as long as going there did. Walking was not an option for May, as the pathways were just as busy as the roads and travelling by foot would only take longer than doing so by car.

Basically, Peter had time. He was so close to success he didn’t want to even consider stopping for any reason. He was _so_ close. Victory was within his sights as another digital defence withered and deteriorated before his eyes. A minute more and –

The soft jingle of keys distracted Peter from his train of thought. Aunt May was home. As she inserted the key into the lock, Peter raced to turn off his device and jump into bed before he could be caught awake. By the time May set foot into the apartment, the teenager had already thrown a blanket over top himself, successfully hiding the fact that he hadn’t yet changed his clothes.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to relax his tense body. To get away with Peter’s necessary and blatant rule-breaking, he’d have to play the part as best he could.

When Peter heard the door to his room open, he had to remind himself to continue breathing as fear and unreasonable panic flooded his mind. He laid stiffly beneath the covers, painfully aware of all the difficulties being caught would force upon him when it came to his current project. Even the sound of his bedroom door shutting didn’t manage to relax the worried teenager.

The moment Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up the quiet snoring of his aunt, though, a wave of relief washed over him. He hated lying to May, but it had to be done. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With stiff movements, Peter quietly pushed the blanket towards the edge of his bed before twisting his body in order to dangle his legs off the cheap furniture. The comfort of his squeaky mattress beckoned him to lay back down and drift off for a few, short minutes. But Peter couldn’t afford the very possible risk of being unable to wake up until much later in the morning, and despite the human body’s need for rest, the teenager managed to convince himself that he would be able to handle it. He was Spider-Man after all.

Tip-toeing silently back to his desk, Peter refrained from taking a seat. His old chair had a habit of somehow lulling him into an unwanted slumber commonly during late-night and early-morning studying. If he wanted to stay awake until this task was fully complete, he’d just have to stand.

With a soft, exhausted sigh, Peter turned his computer back on, the bright light hurting his sensitive eyes. Covering his eyes on reflex, Peter felt himself deflate as rays of sunlight began sneaking past his closed curtains and piercing his closed eyelids. _Fantastic. Now the sun’s rising._

_This is going to be a long morning. _

\---

“Yes!”

Immediately, Peter slapped his hand over his mouth, mentally cursing himself for shouting out in triumph when May was still asleep within the premises. He stood silently, listening intently for any sign that he had woken his sleep-deprived aunt during his impulsive celebration. After a few minutes of May’s nearby snoring filling his ears, Peter gladly declared that she had been unaffected by the boy’s outburst.

It was 10:27 am, and Peter, after multiple hours of non-stop, gruelling hard work, had finally succeeded! The lack of rest, sufficient food consumption and self-care in general throughout the previous one – _two_ – days had proved an obvious challenge when it came to focusing and working efficiently, but at least he got the results he wanted. Eventually.

Peter stared at the coordinates that shone brightly on his computer screen, a wide, happy smile tugging at his lips as a relieving satisfaction seemed to melt his sore muscles to jelly. He’d done it. He knew where Mr Stark was. Finally.

_But how in the hell am I going to get to him?_

Concern stabbed through his joy and pride, effortlessly destroying his cheerful mood. Peter had had time to plan his following course of action before now, of course he did, but in his unhealthy state the thought had completely slipped his mind and remained an ignored preparation until now. He should have planned ahead – he knew he should’ve. But he hadn’t and now he was trapped in a situation he didn’t want to be in.

Feeling inexplicably defeated, Peter allowed his weak body to crumble to the floor. He already knew that the coordinates led to an unidentified Siberian HYDRA facility in Russia, one of which was not located in any of SHIELD’s files, yet was, for some unknown reason, recently catalogued into the missing Iron Man suit’s servers. Along with that information was proof that James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was innocent of the crimes he was currently being accused of – not including his Winter Soldier escapades.

And as intriguing as the drama between the Avengers, and the abundance of interest Mr Stark apparently had in Mr Barnes’ after the engineer’s departure from the RAFT were, the only detail Peter was focused on was the location of the missing billionaire. Siberia was quite a distance away, and as much as the disappointing reality that Spider-Man wouldn’t be able to simply swing or drive (despite Peter being too young to legally do so) to the required destination negatively impacted the boy, he couldn’t waste time on self-loathing. According to the last vitals the Iron Man suit recorded on Mr Stark about a day or two ago, the man wasn’t doing well.

His injuries were extensive and ranged from internal bleeding to broken bones and a fractured skull. Apparently, the suit had been forcefully shut off immediately after a dangerous blow to the chest portion of the armour, during which apparent trauma was delivered to the heart. Peter was no doctor and he didn’t need to be in order to know that there would definitely be at least some permanent damage left behind from whatever had occurred in Siberia.

The built-in camera’s had also suffered damage, from which they most probably couldn’t be repaired from. In order to access their files, though, Peter would need to do so manually. Basically, the teenager knew something happened in that HYDRA facility which destroyed the most recent Iron Man suit to the point it stopped functioning altogether, as well left Mr Stark somewhere between alive and on the verge of death, but he had no idea what. So now there was also the issue that if he went to the specified location, he could also risk walking into danger blind.

Obviously, Peter was still going to go. If anything, that list of injuries was even more of a reason to go find Mr Stark. Now the teenager was sure that the billionaire was in real danger, and it was becoming obnoxiously clear that he was the only one aware of it. So far. _But what would my means of transportation be? _

Peter leaned back from where he was seated on the floor in order to press his back against the wooden side of his bunk bed. Feeling devastatingly irritated and defeated, Peter allowed an empty sigh to leave his dry throat. His options were insanely limited, restricted by both his age and lack of access to the appropriate, large payment necessary to legally obtain what he currently required. He’d need some type of airborne vehicle, like a plane, jet or helicopter, but there was no way he’d be able to afford something so expensive.

Sometimes Peter wished he was rich like Mr Stark. _Mr Stark _would be able to afford a plane. Who was Peter kidding – Mr Stark already had several private planes and other flying vehicles just because he could!

Peter’s eyes widened in realisation, a cautious excitement lighting up his dulling, brown eyes. He already had access to the Iron Man suit and Mr Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, which also happened to control the entirety of Stark Tower. Additionally, the AI’s access included personal vehicles and, coincidently, happened to serve as an autopilot function of sorts for majority of Stark Industries’ and SHIELD’s complimentary, self-funded conveyances. Good thing Peter researched all of Tony Stark’s revolutionary creations in the past, otherwise he wouldn’t have known that particular detail, without having spent a lot of time he doesn’t have investigating the famous company and their brilliant Artificial Intelligence.

Although his body still ached from exhaustion and lack of use, Peter pushed himself up off the floor with only mild discomfort. He grunted as his sore joints shifted and groaned in protest of the sudden movement, yet showed no further, visible acknowledgement of the albeit bearable pain his body was causing him. Instead of worrying about his lack of recent self-care, the teenager dragged himself back towards his computer, typing in the command necessary for FRIDAY to begin preparing a fairly large jet for take-off. A few seconds later once that was complete, Peter typed in the coordinates of Tony Stark’s last known location according to the Iron Man suit Peter had hacked previously.

A normal flight from New York City to Siberia, Russia, would take anywhere between one and two and a half hours depending on where specifically in Siberia the plane were to land. With a Stark Jet, especially one of this size, Peter could arrive within twenty minutes to an hour. If all went according to plan that was. The_ plan_ which hardly qualified as a plan at all but Peter didn’t have time to dwell on specifics anyways. A rough idea should, hypothetically (hopefully), be sufficient for now.

As soon as Peter received confirmation that a flight path was decided on and that within ten minutes the chosen jet would be ready for a below the radar flight to Siberia and back to Stark – _Avengers (the name hasn’t been officially changed back yet) _– Tower, he began to consider if he should invite anyone else to accompany him on the journey. Mr Stark was critically injured, and probably lying on the ground somewhere bleeding out by the minute. As much as Peter wanted to fully commit to the risk of completing this self-set task entirely on his own, that goal was quickly being proven to be beyond possibility.

Peter’s medical knowledge and experience was anything but vast, due to being strictly limited to his aunt’s work stories, surprisingly accurate television shows and injuries the teenager was forced to treat on his own in secret. That last category mainly existed because of school bullies and Spider-Man related activities, but, as Peter keeps needing to remind himself, specifics are of no importance considering the current circumstances. The point the vigilante was trying to get at was that he alone could not provide sufficient assistance to the deathly injured billionaire.

He’d need doctors who knew how to actually help someone so physically wounded and, hopefully, had treated Mr Stark in the past. In the unlikely event, the engineer was still awake, it would be more calming for him to be met with somewhat familiar faces. Speaking of familiar faces and previous company from Mr Stark’s perspective, it may be appropriate for Peter to inform some of the famous hero’s close friends of his findings now that he had a location and a form of transportation.

From what Peter had learned from his obsessive watching of Mr Stark’s interviews during earlier years of the boy’s childhood, the billionaire’s circle of trusted loved ones was small and insanely difficult to squirm one’s way into. It mainly consisted of; Pepper Potts, previously Mr Stark’s personal assistant but now Stark Industry’s CEO; Colonel Rhodes, the self-appointed best friend; and Happy Hogan, the private chauffeur/bodyguard that happened to grow close to the elusive genius after the death of Howard and Maria Stark. At one point, that list of people included Obadiah Stane, but that changed due to some… particularly _complicated_ issues that arouse between Stane and Mr Stark himself from which only one escaped with their lives.

Then there were the Avengers. Mr Stark, as practically all life on Earth, was aware of, was part of the legendary superhero team. He supplied the weapons, the costumes, the housing, the technology, the _money_, as well as covered any other expenses Peter might have forgotten to mention. None of the other Avengers, excluding Black Widow and Hawkeye, from Peter’s knowledge at least, was employed nor earned some type of income. The agents' Peter previously listed work –_ or used to work, I guess_ – with SHIELD, so they weren’t exactly financially unstable without Mr Stark’s voluntary assistance.

Clearly, both Iron Man and Mr Stark were obviously extremely valuable to the team – _the team _which most likely wouldn’t be able to function without the famous billionaire. It was simple mathematics really, though that stunt in Germany showed that about half of those heroes weren’t aware of that fact._ Best not to dwell on that now, Peter. Focus. Should I try and contact any of the Avengers or not? I already have access to the RAFT, where the majority of them are anyway. _It would be easy to inform them, but the real issue was whether or not it would be in Mr Stark’s best interest.

Majority of New York believed the Avengers to behave as some sort of dysfunctional family, but Peter just couldn’t manage to realistically visualise such a strong bond existing between any of the Avengers besides a few groups here and there, like Black Widow and Hawkeye, or Captain America, the Winter Soldier and the Falcon. But even those seemed more like really close friendships rather than a mutual, familial love. Peter, in contradiction to popular opinion, speculated that the Avengers’ relationship was actually strictly professional. Well, mostly anyway.

One could tell by the way they acted around one another. How physical contact was rare besides the occasional hug now and then or when they physically fought against each other, like at the airport a few days ago. Arguments seemed to arise rather frequently among them, and although they undeniably worked well together on the battlefield, tension always blossomed afterwards. Friendly banter rarely ever left the fight with them, not to mention conversation always focused around the work they’d done rather than themselves and their lives outside the Avengers.

(It wouldn’t be until much later when Peter would question if Tony knew that too.)

Peter had figured all of that out simply from the videos he found online and what the news showed, which, might he mention, was more than enough to deduct that conclusion. He’d learned to be observant of people’s body language and behaviour over the years, especially after all the incidents he’d had with unfortunately unpleasant people in the past. Not to mention it came in useful when he went out to patrol as Spider-Man, particularly when the culprit was about to either attack or attempt to escape. It was surprisingly convenient being able to infer an opponent’s next action simply based on the way they held themselves even with Peter’s insanely accurate spidey-sense helping him out.

Peter suddenly shook his head to clear his train of thought. _No Avengers_, he decided. _Not even Colonel Rhodes. He has enough going on with the whole lower-body paralysis issue. _That decided it. The teenager would email Mr Happy and Ms Potts from the other’s account, informing them of Peter’s findings and instructing them on what they needed to do while remaining somewhat vague on the overall situation in order to avoid panic. Sure, they may both behave professionally but that doesn’t guarantee they won’t act irrationally when they find out a loved one is extremely injured and nearing death in some abandoned HYDRA facility.

The spider mutant’s access to FRIDAY, Mr Stark’s AI, provided the teenager with simple ingress to the accounts and the electronic devices of people such as Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan. And even if it didn’t, Peter already obtained their contact information and more during his time spent hacking the latter’s digital documentation on the plane ride back to New York. With a startled excitement, Peter happily recalled that he had left a tab open on his phone with Mr Happy’s email account open for the main purpose of checking the emails the bodyguard received for news on Mr Stark.

And yeah, Peter was aware that what he had been doing was probably not allowed and a total invasion of privacy, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Using his new-found exhilaration for a severely needed boost of energy, Peter quickly grabbed his phone and typed in his short password with practised ease. As he did so, the exhausted teenager happened to glance at the time, only to wince as he realised how long had passed since he commanded FRIDAY to prepare a jet. Sure, twelve minutes might not seem like that much in other circumstances, but in this one, every second spent not racing towards Mr Stark’s location was time wasted and time within which the billionaire could have died. 

Had the current circumstances not demanded quick results, Peter would have taken the time to read previous emails Mr Happy had sent in order to create a believable message that could easily fool the receiver without arousing any sort of suspicion. But he was already pushing the boundaries of the human body’s ability to remain alive in such dangerous conditions, and couldn’t risk suffering the consequences of performing such an unnecessary procedure. He'd just have to wing it. He could do that. Maybe. Hopefully. 

(Now when Peter looked back on these events, he found it rather unnerving how much the word ‘hopefully’ sprang up.)

Not allowing himself further time to ponder the disastrous effects getting caught now that he was so far into this operation and so close to receiving the results he’d been after could have, especially when it came to Mr Stark’s survival, Peter began typing. He kept the email short, being careful to avoid mentioning himself or anything that wasn’t completely necessary while he composed a brief explanation of what the recipient, Ms Potts, needed to do and why. Soon, the teenager had created what he considered to be a decent email containing very limited yet very important information. The instructions were vague and the details concerning Mr Stark were even more so, but as long it got the famous CEO on the jet and soon it didn’t really matter. Peter would have time to fill her and Mr Happy in more properly on the ride to Siberia anyway.

Just as he was about to press send, Peter found himself hesitating. He’d already decided that he would bring some medical professionals along as well, specifically ones which had assisted or, at the very least, met Mr Stark in the past. The issue with that was that he could think of no one that fit that criteria and he certainly didn’t have the time to spare in order to find people who did. But maybe, just maybe, someone else already had the solution to his problem.

Mr Happy and Ms Potts were some of the very few who were close to Mr Stark on a personal level, therefore, if Peter’s theory was correct, at least one of them was bound to know a doctor or two that had previously treated the billionaire. It was only common scene really. The only major issue with that was who out of Mr Happy and Ms Potts would be more likely to have access to that type of information.

Mr Happy was a personal bodyguard and head of SI security – last Peter had heard – so it wasn’t completely unlikely for him to have some sort of contact with medical professionals, just in case something went wrong. But then there was Ms Potts, the person who arguably had the closest relationship with Mr Stark. They had known each other for years, as well as worked together personally on many different occasions for almost that entire period of time.

On top of all of that, Ms Potts was also usually the one (along with Colonel Rhodes) who would scold Mr Stark publicly without shame if necessary, drag him out of dangerous situations whenever possible as well as force the billionaire to receive medical care when he obviously needed it. Right now, the famous CEO seemed like the most probable person to be able to find the specific people Peter needed someone that was not Stark himself to. Once he felt satisfied with that decision, Peter quickly adjusted the email he was sending to Ms Potts and pressed send, not bothering to read over it for spelling errors he was sure were there. He felt strangely relieved when the word ‘Delivered’ appeared on the screen.

Then he opened Ms Potts’ email account and sent an almost identical email to Mr Happy, whilst silently praying to whatever Gods he could think of (mainly Thor and Loki) that they would notice those emails soon and follow them without question. The teenager was immediately aware of how rushed and badly thought-out this plan was, but it was all he had, and if Ms Potts and Mr Happy arrived too late or not at all then Peter would leave for Siberia on his own and hope that he could manage.

Yeah. He could do this. Totally.

Though the fact that he had been mumbling a majority of his thoughts out loud subconsciously throughout the past few hours without noticing was definitely worrisome. Carelessly, Peter shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried towards the window. Just as he was about to jump out and swing his way to Sta – _Avengers_ – Tower, he noticed the lack of web-shooters wrapped snuggly around his currently bare wrists and the absent feeling of cheap material covering his now exposed face. Mentally berating himself for almost making such a stupid mistake, Peter dashed back into his room and grabbed his homemade (and truthfully visually unappealing) Spider-Man mask and his surprisingly well-produced web-shooters, throwing the first item over his head messily and strapping the others to his wrists in a clumsy manner. 

Soon he was swinging across New York in a mad attempt to reach the prepared jet before anyone else did.

And if he crashed into the occasional building now and again well, that didn’t matter. Not when something much more important than his well-being was at stake.

\---

Peter sat impatiently on the jet, fiddling with his bright red mask in his trembling hands. He’d arrived here maybe five minutes ago, only to find the surrounding area deserted and empty of life besides his own. Although little time had passed, to Peter it felt as though every second stretched for hours, and every minute lasted days yet it still seemed as though every moment was rushing past too fast to comprehend. He had been checking his phone obsessively, growing more worried and stressed as the moments crawled by without any update from Ms Potts or Mr Happy.

Just as he was beginning to fully consider going to Siberia on his own and hoping for the best, the distant sound of talking distracted him. Usually, his hearing was much better due to his powers, but his senses had recently been drifting from intense strengths to hardly noticeable ones, resulting in a pounding headache and sometimes blurry vision. The exhaustion tugging at his mind relentlessly wasn’t much help either and it was becoming obnoxiously obvious that he was on the verge of collapsing.

(It wouldn’t be until weeks later that Peter would even begin to hypothesise that his super-human abilities and senses were all messed up because of the migraine his spidey-sense had been giving him at the time. Ever since Mr Stark’s disappearance was first mentioned, Peter simply couldn’t get the man out of his mind, and since his spidey-sense was having such powerful reactions to the mere thought of the billionaire, such a result should have been expected. The more the teenager thought about it now, the more it made sense to him; the restlessness, inability to concentrate, fatigue, and muscle stiffness that all pointed towards the ‘Prodrome stage’ which occurs before a migraine; or the numbness in his left arm that he had been stubbornly ignoring which signified the second stage.

Sometimes despite Peter’s unnatural intelligence he could be seriously idiotic.)

Choosing to ignore his own health issues, the teenager straightened in his seat and listened closely. Eventually, the noises became clearer, allowing Peter to recognise Mr Happy’s and a woman’s voice. They seemed to be arguing about something Peter couldn’t quite make out from this distance which bothered him to no end. His hearing was supposed to be better than this. _He_ was supposed to be better than this.

Quickly, the teenage mutant jumped up from his seat and raced towards the jet’s opening, peeking around a wall in order to catch a glimpse of who it was that was approaching. Previously he’d been standing at the entrance of the vehicle in anticipation for Mr Happy’s and Ms Potts’ arrival, but had somehow found himself drifting inside the jet and plopping himself onto one of the many available seats during the wait. Now, he crept back towards the open entrance silently, cautious of the company Mr Happy had seemingly brought along. She sounded strangely familiar though, despite the fact that he was certain he had never met her before.

One glance was all it took for Peter to immediately realise the person’s identity as well as understand why he had vaguely recognised her voice. Ms Potts was a popular individual on such a wide scale that is was practically impossible to not instantaneously recognise the CEO upon spotting her. For Thor’s sake, he should have been able to identify her by voice alone! However, this _was_ the first time Peter had ever so much as heard her speak in real life rather than on his television screen, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch that she may have sounded a bit different.

“I know that you don’t remember emailing me, but it’s obvious you did. You have to understand that what you’re saying right now doesn’t make any sense!” Ms Potts argued, her tone bordering on the edge of hysterical as she struggled to subdue her growing anger.

Peter basically tuned their conversation out as he stared in awe at the approaching people. Ms Potts stood tall, posture perfect and black high heels click-clacking against the rough concrete ground with every confident stride. Beside her, maybe a step behind, was Mr Happy, rushing to keep up with her. Their bodies faced the jet they were walking towards, but their heads were turned in order to face each other as they talked.

Behind them was a group of about ten individuals, each one dressed in white and blue scrubs that hung snugly around their forms, and pale blue plastic gloves that covered their hands up to above their wrists. Majority of them held some type of medical equipment ranging from kits filled with presumably bandages and medicines to Oxygen Concentrators Ventilators and hospital beds that they dragged by their side. The occasional two had stethoscopes wrapped around their necks, or medical face masks covering their nose and mouth.

The teenager’s eyes widened in awe and amazement, penny brown irises lighting up like fireworks as he stared at the people that were quickly drawing closer by the second. _I can’t believe they actually showed up. _If Peter’s jaw could physically drop low enough to hit the floor, it would’ve. _Oh my gosh. They actually showed up._ Peter felt like crying. He couldn’t believe they were actually here. _This might actually work. Oh my gosh._

The medical professionals remained quiet, focusing on their respective equipment rather than their destination. Despite an obvious disinterest in the direction they were going, the group moved quickly, managing to barely fall behind the CEO and the Head of Security. Suddenly, Ms Potts stopped walking, turning around fully to glare at Mr Happy angrily, the latter almost tripping over his own feet at the unexpected pause. The doctors ( _\- nurses? Surgeons? - _) managed to react much better than Mr Happy did, their larger equipment freezing by their sides causing the rattle of wheels on rough concrete that Peter hadn’t noticed until then to vanish.

“I didn’t contact you! Why would I have? I don’t have time for practical jokes. I have an entire company to run which, in case you hadn’t noticed, tends to leave me pretty busy majority of the time! The only reason I’m here right now is because _you_ said it was urgent in _your_ email _to me_ and that it concerned Tony!” Ms Potts said, glaring at the unfortunate man in front of her.

_Tony…Mr Stark!_ Peter snapped out of his trance, flinching slightly at the billionaire’s mention. _Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Focus! _Angry at himself for getting so easily distracted, the teenager hit himself repeatedly in an attempt to both punish himself and force himself to focus. It was enough to wake him up a bit more at the very least, although the aggressive pounding of his spidey-sense drowned out a majority of the pain. He didn’t even notice when his skin turned purple and blue as a large bruise began to form. Luckily, it was gone within a few short hours (his healing was on automatic slow at this point).

As what Ms Potts had just said began to finally sink in, Peter felt a cold guilt wash over him in harsh waves. He should’ve considered the fact that they might’ve had plans that they would need to cancel in order to show up. And now, on top of all of that insensitivity, Peter was continuing to waste their time and allow them to blame each other. Upon realising this, Peter immediately decided he had to stop them. This was all his fault anyway. And if they were mad at him then he deserved it.

Peter took a deep breath in in attempt to steady his nerves before stepping out from his hiding place. Surprisingly, he wasn’t immediately spotted and as relieving as that was he knew he had to speak up. Just as Mr Happy was opening his mouth to say something else Peter beat him to it.

“It was me.” He said, voice monotone and nervous.

All eyes were on him instantly – even the medical professionals glanced up once they heard the unfamiliar voice speak. A few took a step back in surprise while some barely reacted. Peter felt immediately overwhelmed by the attention anyway, yet he somehow managed to stand his ground, though he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking or his body from breaking into a cold sweat. Ms Potts’ and Mr Happy’s heads had snapped around to face the jets' opening where the teenager currently stood revealing matching shocked expressions. The latter, however, had a slight look of recognition mixed in with his understandable surprise.

“I – I sent you both those emails.” Peter stammered, resisting the urge to run and hide._ Stupid anxiety. _

Ms Potts already had her phone in her hand, fingers hovering over the screen ready to contact emergency services. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” She asked, a cautious softness in her voice like she was talking to a wild animal.

“I – I – ” The teenager didn’t know how to respond. Should he tell them he was Spider-Man? Mr Happy already knew but Ms Potts didn’t and there were all those people behind her that he didn’t want knowing his identity. Did he tell them he was Peter B Parker? Would them knowing his name even really matter?

“Peter?” Thankfully, Mr Happy interrupted Peter’s stuttered reply before the teenager could say something he would possibly regret later. “What the hell are you doing here?!” He exclaimed; an undeniable anger audible in his tone.

At that Peter flinched back. His hearing had unexpectedly become very sensitive and that had hurt a lot more than he had expected it to. Tears pooled in his eyes without his consent as his headache increased to the point it was hard to think straight. Instinctively, Peter reached a hand up to his head only to accidentally brush over something wet. He pulled his arm back, horrified to find fresh blood coating the top of his fingers. It was coming out of his ear…

At the sight Peter had to bite back a whimper. The group standing in front of him must have noticed because some, Mr Happy and Ms Potts particularly, gasped. Some doctors had begun instinctively reaching for their equipment only to freeze when they must’ve inevitably realised that the boy before them was still possibly dangerous and a threat.

“Kid – ” Mr Happy began, his tone still strict and firm yet cautiously concerned.

“It’s fine.” Peter insisted instead. “I just – I emailed you. Both of you. I – I hacked into your accounts and I’m really sorry.” Peter stuttered, watching in terror as their expressions changed with every word that left his lips. “I’m really, really sorry, - ” He continued, “ – but I really need your help.”

(At the time, Peter didn’t understand why he was so scared, but he later blamed it on his screaming spidey sense. It had just kept shouting constantly. He assumed it had been messing with his perception of danger.)

“Why?” Ms Potts asked, walking closer towards the teenager as she spoke. “Why did you do it? Why do you want us here? What do you want with us?”  
  


“Please I just – I know where he is and where to go but I couldn’t go alone and I’m really sorry. Please you have to trust me. Please.” Peter wasn’t exactly sure when his apologies had formed into desperate begging. “I – I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t but please – _please_ – I need you to come with me.”

“Do you know him?” Ms Potts turned to Mr Happy, finally acknowledging the man’s previous statements.

“Well, it’s complicated – ” The chauffer/bodyguard attempted to explain only to be quickly interrupted.

“Do you know him!?” Ms Potts shouted, gesturing to Peter as her patience thinned by the second. This time, Mr Happy only nodded stiffly. “Can we trust him?” She then asked with forced calmness.

Mr Happy turned to Peter and stared into the teenager’s desperate eyes for a moment before turning back to the CEO. The spider mutant held his breath, knowing that whatever the man’s answer was could largely impact whether they retrieved Mr Stark or not. Eventually, Mr Happy nodded without a trace of hesitance. Internally, Peter deflated with relief. Externally, however, Peter only smiled slightly.

“Alright. Peter, was it?” The teenager nodded in confirmation. “Alright. Before you mentioned a ‘he’. Who were you referring to?” Ms Potts was walking closer, phone already returned to its previous spot in her skirt pocket.

Peter shakily inhaled, visibly trembling as he replied. “Mr Stark.”

\---

The jet landed on the pale white snow, immediately dwarfed by the large HYDRA facility that sat nearby. Seconds after the large vehicle became stationary the engine stuttered off. The back opened, creating a large, flat metal ramp that led to the entrance of the Siberian structure where the ground wasn’t coated in thick layers of snow but was rather partially spared due to the roof which hovered a few feet above. The ugly grey walls of the building stuck out in the pale surroundings ominously, still eerily obvious despite the falling snow.

Peter stared at the new location for a split, tranquil moment before jumping up and out of his seat. The medical professionals that had been fussing over him despite Peter’s insistence that they should save their energy for the actual patient, Mr Stark, exclaimed in annoyance as he slipped out of their clutches. Behind him, Mr Happy and Ms Potts shouted out in surprise, commanding him to stop and wait for them. Their pleas fell on deaf ears, however, as the teenager continued to sprint onwards, speed-enhancing powers pushing him to go faster than his body could manage.

As he dashed out through the jet’s open exit, he found himself stumbling due to the cold air that attacked him instantly. It bit hungrily at his bare arms as the short-sleeved shirt Peter was wearing failed to keep him warm. He knew he should have dressed more appropriately for this expedition, but he hardly cared at that moment in time. There were bigger fish to fry.

It wasn’t until that he was halfway down the ramp, though, when he managed to find his footing and continue, old sneakers pounding against the metal with every step. The falling snow clung at his clothes, the icy coldness causing every movement to become stiff and slower than Peter would have liked. _Spiders can’t thermoregulate,_ Peter reminded himself as he finally came to a pause in front of the open door that now stood before him.

From where he stood, frozen in fear and hesitance, the teenager could clearly see inside the dark bunker, where the corridors stretched into the shadows and rooms were hidden behind gloomy corners. Peter already knew that he could see insanely well in the dark and yet the sight before him still unnerved him. Something hurt Mr Stark bad in there. _What if whoever or whatever it was that did that, was still in there?_

Peter growled angrily, frustrated at himself for hesitating before proceeding to force himself onwards. The echoes of his footsteps drowned out the concerned shouting of Ms Potts and the desperate yells of Mr Happy commanding him to wait.

\---

“Mr Stark?” Peter yelled as he hurried up and down hallways, desperate to hear some sort of response. “Mr Stark? Iron Man? Sir? Are you there?”

Peter knew that he was in the right place – it was practically impossible he wasn’t. The coordinates were burned into his mind and the information that came with the coordinates – _injuries were extensive – internal bleeding – broken bones – fractured skull – trauma was delivered to the heart – permanent damage _– were similarly engraved into his subconscious. This was the right place. He knew it was. But then where was Mr Stark?

\---

Peter was growing frantic, a raw, terrifying panic gripping at him with sharp claws that refused to let go. He didn’t know how long had passed since the jet had landed in Siberia and he hardly cared. He had yet to spot another human being – even Ms Potts, Mr Happy and all other company that had joined him on this trip had whereabouts unknown to him. He knew they were still here – Peter doubted they would leave after everything that they had discussed within the too short yet painfully slow ride here. But he hadn’t seen them since he’d run off, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was growing scared.

As much as Peter despised crowded places (an unfortunate trait to have when one lived in New York) he also couldn’t stand being completely alone. It bothered the teenager how cut off from the rest of the world he was. He had no means of contact as his phone had no signal here and Peter wasn’t about to waste time trying to hack into the closet internet source. He still hadn’t found Mr Stark and he needed to find Mr Stark.

Peter panted as he continued to sprint down every corridor and in and out every room that crossed his path. This building was a lot bigger than he’d originally anticipated, stretching both above and underground for a few storeys. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, a sound which was drowned out by the rhythmic screams of his spidey sense. He had yet to stop running and the excess, sudden exercise was beginning to take its toll on him.

Despite having tried multiple times to use his heightened senses to his advantage, every attempt resulted in a bigger headache and further fatigue. Peter found it better if he just tried to ignore as many of his senses as possible because utilising or acknowledging them wasn’t doing him any favours. All he had to depend on was his spidey sense which, might he mention, wasn’t very good with directions. It warned the teenager of danger, threats and occasionally mild inconveniences. It did not, however, tell him which turn to take in order to find the probably – _most definitely_ – dying billionaire.

_Stupid senses. Stupid useless powers that never work when I want them to_**.** Eventually, Peter found that he couldn’t run anymore. He was forced to momentarily pause his search in order to try and catch his breath. It was like, for a split second, Peter forgot _how_ to breathe and now he was stuck gasping for air as his dry throat protested with every greedy inhale.

Bent over with hands rested on his partially bent knees, Peter felt his mind begin to settle. For a few, satisfying moments, Peter could think straight without feeling dizzy as panicked thought after panicked thought no longer attacked him instantaneously. It eerily reminded him of the calm before a storm, when the world slows down for a short, precious amount of time, before descending into chaos. He shivered, and despite the way his teeth chattered, and his hands trembled slightly, Peter knew none of it was due to the suffocating cold that surrounded him.

Then he _heard_ something.

His head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise, jumping from side to side in hopes of spotting the source. At first, Peter couldn’t tell what it was, his mind struggling to process the sound while at the same time it anticipated hearing it again. The teenager first assumed it was a figment of his imagination – a flicker of hope that he knew he needed. But then it came again, this time louder and sounding closer even though Peter was certain that whatever caused it hadn’t moved in a particular direction. When it echoed down the hall a third time, beckoning him closer with the sound of metal hitting concrete that he finally recognised, Peter wasted no time sprinting towards it.

He found himself in a part of the facility he had yet to explore. The air felt colder here, and a draft swirled around him tauntingly as he drew closer. The noise was growing louder, clearer. Easier to hear and listen to. It repeated randomly, seeming to become more aggressive each time. It was sporadic and irregular, each bang of metal on concrete startling Peter and causing him to flinch. _Sensitive hearing sucks. Ouch._

Then, before Peter had even realised how far he’d travelled in so little time, he noticed it. And opening in the wall akin to a doorway but lacking the door part. It wasn’t a window because there was strong gusts of wind flying through the opening and hitting his numbing skin with powerful slaps of cold. He stood in front of it, frozen in a mess of emotions as he stared, dumbfounded, at what lay before him.

It was a large room, barren and still coloured entirely in depressing greys like the rest of the facility. There were these pillars – _is that what they’re called? _– tall and sloped. They stretched up from the floor to the ceiling in all their concrete glory, barely affected by the winds of time. The sloped sides went inside, into the large room Peter couldn’t bother to examine properly.

Behind the pillars was outside. Snow danced in the air, piling on the floor in thin sheets. The sky was bright, shining with the vibrant noon – at least it was around noon when Peter first arrived here – sun that sat high in the bright blue sky. Truthfully, Peter was sure that if he’d taken the time to actually look at his surroundings properly, he’d find the pure white snow rather beautiful. He always did have a love for winter despite how much his body seemed to despise it – both before and after Spider-Man.

But Peter wasn’t looking at any of that.

He wasn’t even looking at the infamous red, blue and white shield that had been carelessly tossed into the centre of the room, no matter how much the scratch down the middle of it would have surely fascinated him in better circumstances. Maybe if he’d looked at it or at least acknowledged its presence, he could have been distracted – even for the littlest while – from what would soon come to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

No. He wasn’t looking at the shield or at the snow or even at the remains of what he would later discover to be James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes’ metal arm. No. He wasn’t looking at any of that.

Instead, Peter found himself staring at a pool of red liquid, dark and partially frozen but still terrifyingly wet. He was watching, hypnotically, as it oozed from the corners of the man’s eyes and mouth, spilling onto the floor. He was watching as the Iron Man armour, destroyed beyond hopes of repair and mangled to the point it was almost beyond recognition, slammed into the ground repeatedly as the man it was attached to shook and jerked and twitched.

Peter was watching with wide, once innocent eyes as Mr Stark seized uncontrollably, coated in dry and wet and disgusting layers of his own blood. Peter was watching as his idol, his hero, convulsed and spasmed as the billionaire choked and gagged on his own blood. Peter watched as the man he’d come to rescue, worked so hard to find, banged his head and limbs against the concrete involuntarily.

For a second – one single, never-ending second – Peter was paralysed in horror and unimaginable fear. He didn’t know what to do. What could he do? But then Mr Stark, from where he was laying between those dreaded, ugly pillars, twitched his head slightly and their eyes met. Briefly. For less than a moment.

(The look on his face was one Peter would wish he could forget years after Mr Stark was all better again.)

And then Peter moved – no, he _ran_. Ran like his life depended on it despite the fact that he felt heavier than stone. Despite the fact that bile was rising up his throat. Despite the fact that tears were blurring his already messed up vision. Despite the fact that he wanted to turn away and run and hide more than anything. And when he spoke – shouted – there wasn’t any relief in his voice like he thought there would be.

No. There was just pure, horrified fear, like a prayer yelled to the Gods Peter knew would never be able to hear him. 

“Mr Stark!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry!!!!!!!
> 
> I kept telling people in the comments that I'd try to get this out 2019, and then January, then February and now it's April. So I'm sorry. Life got in the way, then mix that in with school starting again and then starting self-isolation then throw in a pinch of procrastination and BAM!! This is what you get. Don't worry, I'm fine. I hope ya'll are alright too. Wish you well!
> 
> Again, I am very, very sorry. I did warn you in the last chapter that it may be some months before you get this chapter, I just didn't expect it to take, like, half a year. 
> 
> Hope this lived up to your standards! I tried to get the characterisation right with Ms Potts, Happy and Peter but I'm not Marvel (if I was, Tony, Natasha, Loki and all of Asgard would still be alive/exist). So, yeah. 
> 
> I'll try to not take as long next time! Also, thank you to everyone who has been so nice and supportive in the comments! I really appreciate it and it was really encouraging! Thank you very much!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi:)  
So, this is my first MCU fanfiction! I would love to hear what you think about it and if I should turn this into a series, or continue the story. It was originally a one-shot but if you guys want me to continue adding to this story I would be happy to comply!  
I'm also mainly really looking forward to receiving feedback and reading your comments! I am sure to reply (unless my only brain cell stops working - then I'll probably be somewhere in a corner reading the same fanfiction over and over because whoever wrote it writes good) and would just, in general, like to possibly take suggested prompts from readers because why not? 
> 
> Anyways; hope you enjoyed my one-shot! And I look forwrad to writing more lengthy stories in the future.


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